Demonology 101
by BeachDreamer
Summary: Emily Prentiss takes a break from the BAU to investigate a string of exorcisms gone wrong. The unsub has been caught and deported, but something still feels off. She never expects to cross paths with two mysterious strangers investigating the same events.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: **Sadly I own nothing and have no claim on the awesomeness that is either Supernatural or Criminal Minds. :o(_

* * *

*Washington D.C.*

Inside the cavernous church a lone figure sat in quiet contemplation, head bowed. The smell of incense and the light glow of flickering candles activated something deep in her memory. Outside of the occasional wedding or funeral she hadn't stepped foot into a church since she was 15 years old.

Rome…she had tried so hard to put all of those memories behind her. To move on. The unbidden reminiscences rolled over her like a tidal wave as her deep brown eyes welled with tears. Matthew. Sweet Matthew. Matthew who had supported her in her darkest hour. Her heart ached with the fact that he was gone. And that so called priest, Father Silvano. Exorcisms. He truly thought that he was performing exorcisms. Three men had died, but he was still so sure he was doing God's work.

She mentally shook herself and took a deep breath. Then FBI Supervisory Special Agent Emily Prentiss stood to her feet and walked out into the gently falling snow.

* * *

*Cincinnati, Ohio*

Dean Winchester lounged on the cheap motel bed, jean clad legs crossed at the ankles and arms folded behind his head. A beer sat slowly warming on the bedside table as "The Great Escape" played on the television. The events of the past week weighed heavily upon him. So much loss. His life was littered with collateral damage. Sure he and Sam had saved the reaper Tessa and kept another seal from being broken. Big deal. Saving seals was like a twisted, high stakes version of the Whack-a-Mole game Sammy had loved so much as a kid. Take care of one and another one pops up where you least expect it.

He glanced up from the television to Sam, hunched over his laptop at the small motel table. No doubt checking demonic omens and searching for their next hunt. He could see that his brother was as beaten down and exhausted as he was from the defeated slump of his mammoth shoulders. Pamela's death had hit him hard. After the funeral they drove east, pushing the Impala relentlessly as far away from Wyoming as they could get. His eyes strayed back to the screen where Steve McQueen was trading insults with the German Commandant. The television was close to muted, but he knew the lines by heart.

"_Are all American officers so ill mannered?" "Yeah, about 99 percent" "Then perhaps, while you are with us…"_

"Dean? Dean? Dude!" Sam's voice broke into Dean's mental recitation of Hilts and Von Lueger's interchange.

"Hmmm. Yeah? What?" Sam could hear the strain in his brother's voice though he could tell Dean was trying to conceal it.

"Think I found something. A few deaths. Allegedly the result of botched exorcisms…in D.C…Oh come on. Damn it!"

His brother's irritated outburst piqued Dean's curiosity. "OK, and…why are we already damning it?"

"_And_, the FBI's already involved," Sam sighed deeply, "so if we're gonna look in to this one, we're gonna have to find a different cover than our usual."

Though they hadn't used their fraudulent FBI badges since their hunt for the siren in Iowa, they tended to be their go to form of identification. Nobody questioned the FBI, not even the local law enforcement. Sure they would hem and haw a little but both Dean and Sam had been working the job long enough to exude the kind of authority and bravado that brooked no argument.

"So we come up with another cover. We got a couple hundred…well, like five hundred miles of road between here and there and all that time to come up with something. How soon do we need to get going?" a low growl emanated from Dean's stomach "And can we eat first? I'm starving." he asked, trying to lighten the mood, as he heaved himself off the bed and began throwing his stuff into his duffle.

"Dude, you're always starving." Sam shook his head with a wry grin, "Whatever. Let's get going."

* * *

_A/N~This is my first attempt at a fanfic so any feedback, positive or negative, is appreciated. I have a lot of ideas for this story and I'm not sure just yet how long it will end up being, so bear with me. Hopefully I'll be able to update regularly, but I can promise that as I finish chapters, I will upload them. Thanks for reading and enjoy!_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer**: Sadly, I own nothing and can take no credit for the awesomeness that is either Supernatural or Criminal Minds. If only..._

* * *

*FBI Headquarters~Quantico,Virginia*

"Briefing room in five. We've got another one." Media liaison Jennifer "JJ" Jareau called to SSAs Derek Morgan and Spencer Reid as she crossed the main floor of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. The petite blond was quite a sight, her arms loaded down with files and her heels tapping a sharp staccato beat on the floor.

"Mornin' to you too, JJ." Morgan chuckled and turned with his usual swagger toward the briefing room as Reid took another swig of his ever present coffee. "Comin' kid?"

Before he got a chance to reply to Morgan, both Reid's arm and attention were commandeered by the quirkiest member of the team. "Have you heard anything from Emily? I'm super worried about her." Reid noted the uncharacteristically somber tone in the voice of Penelope Garcia, technology guru extraordinaire. Had he not heard it, he would have seen it in her eyes. There was a strain there that was generally only present during the most heinous cases. The two entered the room just behind Morgan. Unit Chief Aaron "Hotch" Hotchner and SSA David Rossi were already there preparing for the briefing as JJ passed out the folders she had been carrying.

Everyone quickly took their seats as Reid answered Garcia. "I haven't heard anything from her. She seemed incredibly disturbed at the conclusion of the exorcism case. It's not surprising considering the nuances of the situation and her ties to the victims. In all actuality…" he slowly trailed off, blushing slightly as he realized that, yet again, everyone was staring at him.

"Ahem." Hotch cleared his throat quickly, "As a matter of fact, Agent Prentiss is the first order of business today. She has requested a brief personal leave of absence to process recent events." He looked around at his team, his expression solemn. "I trust that we will all carry on in our normal manner to bring this next case to a quick close." His voice held a trace of inquiry as he again made eye contact with each person at the table.

Murmured agreements filled the room as all of the agents shared troubled glances. Emily prided herself on her ability to compartmentalize and she never allowed her professional and personal lives to influence each other.

Rossi broke the silence by coughing lightly, "You know we will, Hotch. Moving on. JJ, why don't you fill us in on the details of what we have to look forward to with this one."

* * *

*Washington, D.C.*

_Screaming. The sickeningly sweet scent of burning incense. Thrashing. Unknown, harsh sounding words being repeatedly chanted in Latin. Burning. The feeling of being restrained so tightly that breathing was difficult. Flashes of frightened faces. Groaning. _

Emily made a strangled sound in her throat and woke with a start, sweat and tears pouring down her face. Another nightmare. She glanced at the clock on her bedside table.

3:30 a.m. Again. Always 3:30.

She reached over to turn on her reading light and swung her feet off the side of her bed, sitting up carefully. Experience told her that standing up before her breathing and heartbeat had returned to a normal rhythm would land her right back in bed, or worse on the floor. She knew it would be useless trying to get back to sleep so she grabbed the light robe off of the foot of her bed and padded to the kitchen to fix herself a cup of tea turning on lights as she went.

Her tension was palpable and for some unknown reason she felt as though she was being watched. The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention like obedient soldiers at reveille. Pulling her robe closer around her body she looked over her shoulder and quickly took stock of her surroundings. As is typical for any law enforcement officer, she was incredibly cautious. She could see that all blinds and curtains were closed, all of the doors and windows were locked and the alarm was set.

"Get it together, Emily! For God's sake, you chase serial killers for a living. You're stronger than this." She chuckled breathlessly at her paranoia but glanced around one last time. She just couldn't shake the very distinct feeling that she wasn't alone.

* * *

*Reston, Virginia*

As the shiny black Chevy Impala pulled up to yet another cheap, run of the mill motel, the unmistakable guitar riffs of AC/DC's "Thunderstruck" could be heard pumping through the speakers. Good classic rock never failed to put Dean into a good mood. It also didn't hurt that they had put two thousand miles between themselves and horror of their last case. Their lives kinda sucked. Both he and Sammy were well aware of that fact, but they had learned to carry on.

He smiled a bit when he put the car in park and left Sam dozing in the passenger seat as he ran in to the motel office to get them set with a room. He had decided to use his newest Visa card, issued to one S. Tyler, to pay for their lodging. Figuring that it would take at least a week to track down the demonic source of the possessions, he reserved the room for nine nights and then headed back to pull the car around to the opposite side of the building where room 237 was waiting for them.

Sam was sleeping harder than Dean had realized, a tiny line of drool snaking out of the corner of his mouth. Dean snickered and dug out his cell phone. This would make for great blackmail later. He snapped the picture and then in typical style cranked the music up to max volume so that "T.N.T" blasted and startled Sam into bumping his head on the car's ceiling.

"Dude! What the hell?" Sam sputtered indignantly as he reached over to turn off the music and then gingerly felt his scalp for tenderness. "Why do you always do that?"

"Rise 'n shine Sammy! We have arrived at our newest home sweet hotel. And I do it because it's freakin' hilarious! Have you ever seen you jump that high? By the way, nice drool." Dean snickered again as he hefted his two duffle bags, one of clothes the other of weapons, out of the trunk. "But seriously, let's go. I'd like to get at least a couple hours sleep before we take on D.C."


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N**~I still do not own anything of SPN or CM. It's still a bummer._

* * *

*Reston, Virginia*

Sunlight filtered through the dingy motel curtains to rest lightly on Dean's slumbering form. His handsome face, so often taut with tension during his waking hours, was smooth and peaceful. One muscular arm was curled under his pillow, the hand mere inches from a Bowie knife, edge honed to razor sharpness. Even in sleep he was prepared for an attack. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, hand reaching for the knife as his subconscious registered a noise outside the door. Another _thump_ had his shrewd green eyes popping open, sleep forgotten as his fingers wrapped around the knife's hilt. His body tensed, muscles like coiled springs poised to strike as the door cracked open. Dean waited patiently for the intruder to reveal himself and breathed a quick sigh of relief when it was Sam who bumped the motel door open with his hip, two steaming cups of coffee in his hands.

"You're finally up. Decided to rejoin the land of the living, huh?" Sam chuckled as he set one of the tall paper cups next to Dean on the table.

Dean glowered at his little brother. "Whatever dude, you're just lucky you have coffee. Otherwise I might consider shooting you for waking me up. And it better be black. None of the chick stuff you drink. Can you really call yourself a man if your Starbucks order includes the words nonfat and frappe? By the way, where's breakfast?"

"Breakfast ended about 2 hours ago Dean." Sam retorted as he booted up his laptop.

"Hmmm" Dean glanced at the alarm clock as he stood. 12:10. Damn. "Doesn't matter. I'd rather have a juicy bacon cheeseburger anyway." His stomach growled in agreement. He grabbed a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from his duffle and sniffed them quickly on his way to the bathroom.

"Well, you're going to have to wait until we get into DC" Sam's response was muffled by the door and the noise of the shower. "We have to shag ass if we're going to be able to start interviewing the families of the exorcism victims."

Dean rolled his eyes as he worked his lathered hair into a faux mohawk. "Yeah, yeah." He muttered under his breath. "So college boy, you come up with a good cover yet?"

Sam rolled his eyes as he scanned the reports he had hacked from the DC police files. "I'm thinking our best bet is to steer away from law enforcement for this one. DC is crawling with agencies and the last thing we need is to cross paths with the wrong person."

"So reporters then?" Dean questioned as he exited the bathroom in faded jeans, dampening the collar of his gray t-shirt as he pulled it on over his still wet hair. He grabbed a dark gray chambray button down and put it on, rolling the sleeves up as he moved to read over Sam's shoulder.

Sam looked up, "Yeah. The Washington Examiner has only been around for about four years. Established enough for legitimacy but not so established that the staff is instantly recognizable. While you were passed out I went to the little copy store down the street and made these." He held out two freshly minted press passes. Dean Bonham and Sam Page. "I figured we were better off using our real first names. It's easier."

"Zeppelin. Always a good choice. Nice work Sammy." Dean took his new identification and slipped it into one of the credential holders he and Sam kept for just that purpose. "Do I look legit?" He flipped it open and grinned before slipping it into his pocket.

Sam rolled his eyes again. "Yeah Dean. Totally legit," he deadpanned. "Can we go?"

Dean finished pulling on his boots, stood up and grabbed his leather jacket off the back of the chair as he walked to the door. "Waitin' on you Sasquatch. Waitin' on you."

* * *

*Washington, DC"

Emily stood under the hot spray of the shower willing it to loosen the knotted muscles in her neck. She had awoken curled in an awkward position on her sofa just past dawn, the tea cold on the table next to her. After taking the cup to the kitchen and pouring the remains down the sink, she made her way to the bathroom. One glance in the mirror made her cringe. Thick, dark hair that was normally shiny hung lank and lifeless from a low pony tail, the bangs held back with bobby pins. Sallow skin and dark brown eyes that looked sunken over circles so shadowed they appeared bruised stared back at her. No, the mirror had not been her friend that morning. She groaned as she felt the heat begin to give way to cooler water and turned off the shower. Wrapping a towel around herself she stepped out into the steamy bathroom.

Something didn't feel right. Her senses on high alert, Emily reached under the sink and pulled out the pistol she kept concealed behind the cleaning supplies. She moved cautiously to the door the way she had been trained in the academy and taking a deep breath pushed it open to…

Nothing. Nothing was out of place. The air was so still that she jumped when the air conditioner kicked on. "Stupid, Emily. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Get a grip on yourself." She walked back into the bathroom and returned the pistol in its hiding spot. Wiping the steam away from the mirror with a towel, she was pleased to see that some of her color had returned. It was a start. She rarely wore much makeup, but figured that today she could make an exception. Hotch had approved her leave of absence, but she hadn't been completely honest with him. She didn't plan to rest. She had to find out what had really happened in that room when Matthew died and how his parents could have ever believed him possessed in the first place.

* * *

Dean pulled the Impala up to the curb in front of the tidy brownstone. "This the one?" he asked Sam as the car idled with a low purr.

"Ummm…yeah. Looks to be. Home of Tom and Andrea Benton, parents of Matthew Benton, the second exorcism 'victim'." Sam glanced up from the notebook he had copied the information into. "Looks like he passed away about a week ago. We need to tread lightly with this one, man."

"When do I not tread lightly?" Dean scoffed and smacked his brother playfully on the back of the head as Sam suppressed a snort, "Whatever. I can be sensitive. Not everyone can be a human puppy dog, Dude. That's why I have you." He laughed out loud at the wounded expression on Sam's face and climbed out of the car.

The two made their way up the front steps and, after taking a moment to school their features into looks of polite concern, rang the doorbell.

"Yes? Can I help you?" the woman who opened the door appeared exhausted but exuded an air of culture and grace.

"Yes ma'am. Mrs. Andrea Benton?" At her nod Dean continued. "Dean Bonham and Sam Page." He held out his press id and tilted his head in Sam's direction. "From the Examiner? Our editor asked us to come by and get a few quotes for a story we're doing on the recent unauthorized exorcisms that have taken place in the city. Would you be willing to speak with us?"

She appeared ready to refuse but after looking into Sam's earnest face nodded in assent. "I would prefer if you'd not attribute the quotes to us. Neither my husband nor I can take much more scandal. We truly believed we were doing the right thing." She stepped back to make room for the two men to enter the elegantly furnished foyer. "This way please."

"Of course," Sam responded following her into a comfortable sitting room and taking a seat in one of the wingback chairs while Dean took the other. "We can only imagine how difficult this must be for you. We won't be recording this interview, but is it acceptable to you if I take notes?"

She nodded slightly. "Before we begin, let me get my husband. I would be more comfortable if he were present for this. Could you excuse me for a minute?" She didn't wait for a response before moving out of the room.

"You want to take point on this one or should I?" Dean asked Sam under his breath.

"Go ahead. I'll take notes and watch the body language." Sam replied quietly as Mrs. Benton returned followed by a distinguished gentleman who could only be her husband, Tom Benton.

Sam and Dean rose to shake Mr. Benton's hand and introduced themselves again before settling back down to begin the interview.

Mrs. Benton's face looked strained as she began, "You must understand. We are faithful, religious people. We loved our son and would never have done anything to intentionally harm him, but we had been noticing a difference in Matthew for quite some time. We could tell that there was something evil inside of him. It was his eyes. They looked…dead. There were even times that they appeared completely black." Sam and Dean exchanged a look. "I knew it was a trick of the light, but still it terrified me." Mrs. Benton choked back a sob.

"Had there been any changes in Matthew's life recently? Had he taken any trips or mentioned any new people?" Dean questioned.

"He did take a trip," Mr. Benton replied, his voice cracking, "to Spain. Some sort of religious pilgrimage. He never mentioned whether he met anyone or not. Again, please understand. Matthew had been in a downward spiral for a long time, but after that trip…something changed. It got worse somehow. He wasn't our Matthew anymore. We knew that we had to contact a priest."

"The priest that performed the exorcism? Could we have his name? We'd like to get a quote from him as well," with the pencil poised over the notebook, Sam looked up expectantly.

"His name is Father Paul Silvano, but I'm afraid it's impossible for you to speak with him," Mr. Benton looked up with a haunted look in his eye. "He's been deported. Something about his diplomatic immunity being revoked. The FBI couldn't prove homicide, so they got rid of him that way." Something about the way the man said "FBI" struck Dean as off. It was almost venomous.

The doorbell sounded and Dean glanced sideways at his brother before standing to his feet. "It appears that you have another guest, so we'll be going. Thank you so much Mr. Benton, Mrs. Benton. We are so sorry for your loss. We'll be in touch if we need anything clarified." He and Sam shook the couple's hands and followed Mr. Benton to the door.

* * *

Emily pulled her car up to the curb behind a gorgeous, classic black Impala and tried without success to still the spastic butterflies that swooped and dove about in her stomach. She hadn't been to the Benton's brownstone since she and Rossi had returned a few days before to get the name of the final "conduit" that Father Silvano planned to exorcise. The reception then had been chilly at best. She was expecting downright Arctic this time. Matthew's parents had never liked her. They considered her to be a bad influence, a belief that had only been strengthened by the events in Rome. They blamed her for Matthew losing his faith. They blamed her for his descent into mental illness and drug abuse. Hell, they probably blamed her for his death.

Her cell phone buzzed on her hip prompting her to check the display. JJ. Again. And an hour ago it had been Garcia. Apparently they were taking turns checking in on her. She sighed deeply and tucked the phone back into its case. She hadn't returned any of the calls yet but knew she would have too soon. The members of the BAU team were more than coworkers. More than friends even. They spent enough time together to qualify as family. The girls were worried about her and if she didn't report in soon she had no doubt that Garcia would be hacking into whatever she could to verify Emily's wellbeing.

She flipped down the visor and checked her reflection in the mirror. Under eye concealer had mostly taken care of the dark circles and a swipe of blush on each cheek brightened up her complexion. Though she didn't quite look herself she didn't look like the walking dead anymore either. Flicking the visor back up and breathing deeply, she stepped out of the car.

Emily stood before the Benton's door trying hard not to hyperventilate. She closed her eyes, took one final deep, cleansing breath, and pressed the doorbell firmly.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer:** I still don't own and therefore can't take any credit for the awesome amazingness that is either SPN or CM. Bah._

* * *

*Washington, DC*

The doorbell's chime reverberated much louder in the sweeping foyer than it had in the more intimate sitting room. Both Mr. and Mrs. Benton accompanied the brothers into the hall as it pealed again. Sam and Dean stepped to the side with the husband while the wife excused herself to answer the door.

"Thank you again for your time Mr. Benton. We understand how difficult it must have been for you to open up to us." Compassion radiated from Sam's soulful, hazel eyes. "Rest assured we will handle these quotations and their placement within the article with the utmost discretion." He shook the man's hand a final time. "We'll be in touch if we have further questions."

Mr. Benton looked from Dean to Sam and sighed. "This whole situation has been difficult. It actually is a relief to…" he broke off suddenly when he heard his wife's raised voice. "Excuse me."

"I told you never to come here again, _Agent_ Prentiss. You are not welcome in this house!" Mrs. Benton's face was red with rage and she trembled violently.

"Agent?" Dean mouthed to Sam, his eyebrows drawing together in a frown; an expression mirrored on Sam's features as he shrugged back.

"Mrs. Benton, I'm sorry, but it's very important…if I could just have a few minutes of your time…" Dean couldn't see the woman that the voice belonged to, but he could hear the tremor in it and cringed slightly as a wave of pity washed over him. To have that much negative energy and hatred focused on you…well, he'd been there and it was never pleasant.

"Leave, now Emily." Mr. Benton said quietly, coming up behind his wife and laying a restraining hand on her shoulder. "It's better if you just go. We have nothing more to say to you."

"I…I'm sorry." There was a hesitation, as if the woman was trying to decide if she should push the issue, followed by a resigned sigh. "I…I shouldn't have come." The voice broke on the last word. "Please, again accept my condolence. Matthew was…he was a very special person." Dean could hear the defeat in the woman's quiet intake of breath and then the sound of her feet moving down the stairs before the door slammed closed.

Mrs. Benton stood for a moment, shoulders heaving, before she whirled on her heel, angry tears coursing down her face. Without acknowledging Dean, Sam or her husband she clattered up the hardwood staircase and out of sight.

Mr. Benton looked as if he had aged ten years when he turned back to Dean and Sam, "Gentlemen, I'm going to have to ask you to leave, please. My wife…my wife needs me. Good day."

Almost before they realized what had happened, he had ushered them out the door and closed it behind them with a firm click. Immediately they heard the unmistakable sound of a lock sliding into place and the brothers found themselves on the steps trading bewildered looks.

* * *

Emily stood wearily beside her car, arms resting on the roof, feeling like a complete failure. It was not in her nature to walk away and though she was generally relentless when it came to her investigations, this was different. Personal. She closed her eyes. Her history with Matthew and his parents. The resentment in his mother's eyes and resignation in his father's. History that, mingled with her own decades old guilt, restrained her from following her instincts to force the issue with them.

She shook her head and willed away the tears that threatened, once again, to fall. Her heart constricted within her chest, a sensation she was quickly becoming accustomed to. She gazed up at the dreary gray sky…more snow was coming. In March. Sometimes she hated DC. With a passion. She sighed deeply and glanced back toward the brownstone, startling when she noticed the two men standing in front of the Bentons' door…the two very large, very handsome men…who were staring right at her.

* * *

"What the hell was that about? And…Agent? What the hell, Sam!" he registered the slightly manic tone in his brother's voice but only shrugged at Dean's questions. As confused as his brother, face pensive and gaze fixed on something below them, Sam took a moment to decide on his response.

"We knew that the FBI was involved Dean. The dad reaffirmed that during the interview." Sam reminded him quietly.

Agitated Dean continued, "Yeah, but seriously, what was that? Didn't seem very official. Have you ever seen an agent just walk away like that? Without pressing the issue? Did she even have a partner? No. Something's off about this one, Sam… Sam? Dude…seriously, pay attention!" looking up Dean registered the appraising expression on his brother's face, "What the hell are you staring at?"

Sam raised his eyebrows and cocked his head toward the street, a nonverbal response that Dean was accustomed to, but that never ceased to irritate him.

"Ugh." Groaning in exasperation, Dean turned his head in the direction of Sam's gaze and caught sight of what he was so intent upon: a small blue Honda Civic parked directly behind the Impala. An attractive dark haired woman stood beside the driver's side door staring toward the sky, lost in thought, almost as if she were praying for guidance. "Huh. Suppose that's the Agent?" Dean questioned, perking up considerably at the prospect.

Sam shrugged again in response, indicating that he was concentrating on working out this newest development. As both men continued to study the woman, she glanced back up with a start, her eyes colliding with Dean's.

* * *

As her eyes locked with those of the shorter man standing on the Benton's front steps, Emily's face registered confusion. Her profiler's brain began methodically cycling through questions. _Who are they? Why are they here? Were they in the house the whole time? Did they hear the exchange between Matthew's mother and I?_ Tamping down on her initial reaction, Emily felt herself slide easily into the professional, detached persona she wore so comfortably. She blinked, cleared her face of all emotion and began to scrutinize the strangers with a practiced eye honed through years of FBI training.

She promptly noted the taller one examining her in exactly the same fashion, his brow knit in concentration. He was handsome, well over six foot and broad through the shoulders with shaggy brown hair. She could pinpoint the moment he realized that they were sizing each other up by the slight dimple that appeared in his left cheek.

* * *

Sam chuckled to himself when he saw her expression change from confusion to calculation. She was observing them, taking stock. Oh yeah. She was definitely an agent.

* * *

Emily continued her perusal. They weren't DC police. Neither man was in uniform and their jeans paired with steel-toed boots were much too casual for detectives. She knew firsthand that the FBI had closed the book on this case, so they weren't Bureau. Reporters? Most likely. Her eyes returned to the shorter one. He wasn't short by normal standards, in fact, he was most likely over six foot as well; it was only standing next to his partner that made him look diminutive. His brown hair was cropped close on the sides and carelessly spiked on top as though he regularly raked his fingers through it.

She tilted her head to the side, continuing her inspection. His eye color was a mystery but she could read the inquisitiveness and intelligence there as well as a trace of cockiness. She saw him turn away and mumble something to his partner with a smirk. He was broad through the shoulders and as he began to make his way down the steps she noticed that he moved with a very masculine swagger, much like Morgan's, on legs that were slightly bowed. Those eyes held a hint of challenge as he approached, occasionally turning to converse with his partner.

The taller one followed, shaking his head, with an easy grace belied by a man his size, a curious expression shadowing his face. Amusement and… was it…apprehension? She couldn't tell.

* * *

Irritation momentarily forgotten, Dean grinned, glanced at his brother and mumbled "Watch and learn Sammy, watch and learn," under his breath as he stepped forward.

The brunette was a good looking woman, he thought with appreciation as he made his way down the steps. Her long dark hair was almost black, with heavy bangs that framed her face. He was still too far away to get a good look, but he assumed that her eyes were a dark brown as well. He couldn't gauge her figure until he got around the car, but from what he could see she was slim and toned.

Yes, if there was one thing that Dean Winchester prided himself on, it was his ability to handle a good looking woman. And anyway, they were supposed to be reporters, right? No reporter worth his salt would let a scoop like that walk away, FBI agent or not.

His eyes moved to take in the car. A Civic. Definitely not government issue. As he had originally thought, she was alone. That fact, combined with her being in her personal car meant she was most likely not there on Bureau business. The strong negative reaction that her presence elicited from the Bentons hinted at a personal connection. A deep one, full of animosity.…maybe they could use that to their advantage.

"Dean...careful. You don't know exactly who she is or what she knows." Sam cautioned lightly, knowing full well it would be of little use. Once Dean got something into his head, he was a force of nature. Especially where women were concerned.

"Got it covered Sammy." Dean glanced back over his shoulder as he continued toward the woman. "I'm not an idiot. And, again, last time I checked FBI agents don't travel alone when they're on Bureau time. Let's just introduce ourselves. We're reporters, looking into the exorcisms. She could be an asset to us on this one."

Sam considered Dean's words before nodding in agreement. He couldn't argue with the logic. His brother had many faults, not the least of which was his weakness for the ladies, but Dean was first and foremost a hunter. The case took priority. Period.

* * *

As the men drew nearer, Emily found herself intrigued in spite of herself. She should go. All of her instincts were screaming for her to get in the car and drive away. To close the door on this case. On Matthew's death. To write it off as a heart attack, like his parents had. Like the police and the FBI had. Like her team had.

But …she couldn't. Matthew had been there for her when no one else, not her priest, not her faith, not even her God, had been. And he had paid dearly, the price being his own faith. She owed it to him.

She knew better than to mess with reporters, especially ones as good looking as these two. That was JJ's job and she was infinitely better at it and more qualified than Emily could ever be. Unfortunately, JJ wasn't here and Emily was on her own.

Decision made, she drew herself up, squared her shoulders and figured if the best defense was a good offense then she better be prepared to play ball.

* * *

_A/N: I know, I know "Just let them meet already!" It's coming. I promise. Thanks to all who have read and reviewed. I am eternally grateful!_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Disclaimer**~Still don't own 'em, still wish I did. _

* * *

Dean noted her adjusting her stance as they drew closer; feet planted, shoulders squared, chin lifted. Her deep brown eyes at first glance appeared aloof, but on closer inspection he could see both intelligence and trace of passionate indignation burning behind the composed facade. She was going to be a feisty one all right.

"Excuse me? Miss? Dean Bonham and Sam Page, Washington Examiner." Dean gestured to first himself and then Sam as they reached the rear quarter panel of the Impala, presenting his press pass with a flourish. "Could we have a word?"

"Emily Prentiss. And to be honest Mr. Bonham, I don't know that our 'having a word' is the best idea." Emily retorted. Green. His eyes were clear green and just as shrewd as she had anticipated.

Dean had fully expected the rebuff and in response turned on his most charming grin, "Ah, come on now. It's only a few questions Ms. Prentiss. What's the harm in a few questions?" He added a slight wink to the end, just a twitch really, to see if she caught it.

_Oh, plenty of harm,_ Emily thought to herself, registering the potential devastation a smile and wink from this man could sustain in a weaker woman. He _was_ cocky and too handsome for his own good. He knew it and he knew how to use it to get what he wanted. Emily grimaced slightly. The last thing she needed was to land on the radar of a couple of reporters from an up and coming newspaper. Especially an up and coming DC newspaper. As far as she was concerned all press, especially those that chose to hone their craft in this den of political and moral iniquity, were bottom feeders.

"Ms. Prentiss, really, you'd be helping us out a lot. We'll do this off the record if it makes you feel better." this came from the taller one, Sam?, his brows drawn together over hazel puppy dog eyes.

"Off the record?" Emily scoffed. "I didn't realize those words actually existed in a reporter's vocabulary. And here I always thought that the 'off the record' interview was a myth. Tell me Mr. Page, do unicorns exist too? Because that would _totally_ make my day. Now if you'll excuse me," she motioned toward her car, "I really must be going."

Damn. Dean knew that he should be irritated but he couldn't help but like her. He glanced at his brother and almost laughed at the chagrined expression on Sammy's face. Unicorns? She was stonewalling them at every turn but she did it with such finesse.

"Well, if you change your mind," he reached into the credential case and pulled out one of the business cards Sam had thought to print up with his cell phone number on it, "Give me a call. I really think that we could help each other out on this one."

Emily took the card against her better judgment and tucked it into the hip pocket of her jeans before opening the driver's side door. "Doubtful" she responded disdainfully as she climbed in, shutting the door and inserting the key into the ignition in one motion. As she was shifting out of park she felt her phone vibrate again. _Garcia_.

She hazarded a glance at the reporters as she pulled away which earned her yet another smirk from the shorter of the two. Dean Bonham. Hmm. Both JJ and Garcia _had_ been waiting for her to check in and really, what kind of FBI agent would she be if she didn't verify their credentials? Emily made a mental note to call when she got home and then couldn't help but watch in her rearview mirror as Dean and Sam climbed into the Impala. Her gut was still telling her to leave it alone. It clenched in warning as the unmistakably masculine sound of the engine growling to life reached her.

Oh yeah. These two were going to be trouble.

* * *

No one noticed the clean cut young man sitting unobtrusively on the lower steps of a brownstone across the street. He watched intently as the scene between Emily and the Winchesters unfolded. As the parties went their separate ways, he stood, stretched leisurely and walked away with a contemplative expression on his face as his eyes flashed demon black.

* * *

"So big brother, what exactly was it that I was supposed to be learning there? Because it kind of looked like you were the one who got schooled." Sam snickered as they climbed into the Impala.

"Shut up, dude. It's not over." Dean responded off handedly as he dug through his collection of cassette tapes, "Hey, did you hide my Metallica again?"

"Why would I hide your Metallica tape? You remember what happened the last time we started that crap. And what do you mean it's not over? You heard her. She shut you down. Hard." At the thought, Sam chuckled again and reached over to fiddle with the radio prompting Dean to smack his hand out of the way.

"Ha! Here it is." Popping the tape into the dash Dean started the car and turned to his brother, left hand on the steering wheel, right arm resting lightly on the back of the bench seat. "She's FBI, Sammy, and sharp. More than that, she's invested in this case. _Personally_ invested. Her curiosity will get the better of her and when it does, she's going to seek us out. Guaranteed. As soon as she realizes that there are no such reporters at the Examiner under the names we gave, she's going to find us." He pulled away from the curb.

Sam's head whipped toward Dean, amusement vanishing, "Whoa! I get that she _could_ be an asset. But do we want that? For the FBI to find us? Don't you remember the last time we tangled with the feds? It took a freakin' storm cloud of demons descending on us _and_ Henricksen getting possessed to get them off our case. And now you're _inviting_ them back in? On _purpose_?" Sam looked dubious. "I don't know."

"Oh Sammy, ye of little faith. Give me some credit here. Not 'the FBI.' Her." He glanced back over in exasperation "That little visit? Not authorized by the Bureau. Did you see how she was dressed? Jeans, dude. She was trying to come off nonthreatening. It's the middle of the work week and she was out, alone, attempting to interview witnesses. Witnesses that she didn't pressure or play the FBI card on. This case, Matthew Benton's death, hit her hard on a personal level and now she's out to settle a personal score. That works to our advantage. Plus we have something she doesn't." Dean smirked.

"Oh yeah? And what's that?" Sam responded, impressed and a little surprised at how thoroughly Dean had thought this through.

"My trusty geek boy sidekick." Dean laughed out loud at the prissy look that Sam shot him. "So, seriously Encyclopedia Brown, get to it! Emily Prentiss, FBI. Look it up."

"You're a jerk, you know that?" Sam said petulantly pulling out his computer and booting it up in his lap.

"Yeah, yeah. And you're a bitch." Dean laughed, cranking up "Enter Sandman". "Now for the really important stuff: food! I'm thinking it's just about time for that bacon cheeseburger…"

* * *

"You've reached the FBI's office of Supreme Genius, speak and be heard." Penelope Garcia chirped cheerfully into the headset, her bespectacled eyes skipping between the many computer screens in front of her as she tapped away at the keyboard.

Emily smiled at the greeting. Only Garcia. "Hey lady. Just checking in. Have you hacked me yet?"

"Emily!" Garcia jumped, the oversize flower behind her ear bouncing, as she began to chatter "Oh, If I weren't so happy to hear from you sweetie, you'd be dead right now. Do you have any idea how worried JJ and I have been? Seriously! You can not go so totally off the grid again. Well, you weren't totally off the grid. It's not like I _couldn't_ find you. Want your coordinates?" she questioned with a sly grin.

Laughing, Emily settled down, sinking into her couch. "Considering that my coordinates will show I'm safe and sound at home? Nah. But I do need to tap into your computer brilliance. Are you busy?"

"Too busy for you? Nevah dahling. But you have to promise me that you'll give JJ a call. Morgan's been worried too. Ugh, the whole team has. Even Rossi asked if you'd called. You can't just pull a disappearing act like that on us, Pussycat. It's not ok." Garcia called up one of her favorite search engines. "Alrighty. What am I looking for?"

Emily turned the business card over in her hand. "A couple reporters. Start with staff at The Washington Examiner. Two names, Dean Bonham and Sam Page." She sat patiently, hearing the frenetic tapping of Garcia's fingers on the keyboard and knowing she wouldn't have to wait long.

"Negatory, my dear. No such employees of the Examiner. Where else do you want me to check" Garcia asked, already cross checking the names with other local publications.

"Check all of the other local papers. I'm going to guess that they're not going to show up though." Emily sighed looking back down at the card. _Trouble_.

"Um, did you neglect to mention that you're psychic? Because not only are they not showing up on staff at any local paper, they're not showing up on anything anywhere. And I mean like, _anywhere_. Now you know if they're out there, I can find them but either these guys are ghosts or they were the other side of honest with you. Right now I'm going with door number two. Bonham and Page are, respectively, the names of the drummer and lead guitar in Led Zeppelin." Garcia's voice radiated concern, "While I can't argue that they have amazing taste in music and aliases, I have to ask, who are they? What are you up to Em?"

Zeppelin! That's why they had sounded familiar. But the band members' names weren't Dean and Sam. Her mind churning Emily ignored Garcia's questions as another idea came to her, "How did you figure out my coordinates?"

"I used the GPS in your cell phone, which equals pure awesomeness by the way. Almost all phones have it now. All I need is the number and I can cross reference it with all of the service providers who can then give me the exact coordinates as to where the cell phone is at any time." Even though she had a good idea, Garcia wasn't sure if she wanted to know where this was going.

"So if I have someone's cell phone number, you can tell me where that person is?" a small, wicked smile bloomed on Emily's face when she thought about confronting the two of them, though she was more intrigued by the lie than angry about it. She couldn't figure out why anyone would want to interview Matthew's parents bad enough to impersonate reporters. And not just _say_ that they were reporters, but to take the time to have had fraudulent press passes and business cards made to further their façade.

"Of course I can. Who do you think you're talking to?" Garcia scoffed, momentarily forgetting her concern. "Hit me with it chica." She listened, her nimble fingers entering the number as Emily rattled it off. "Ok…looks like…um. Do you want the actual coordinates or just where they are?"

"Where they are. I don't want to have to bother with a map." Emily was already rummaging for a sheet of paper and pen so that she could write down the info Garcia was preparing to relay. "Ok, shoot."

Garcia hesitated, "Em, I don't know if I want to know what you're doing here, but I know you're too stubborn to be talked out of it. I also know that what happened with Matthew Benton has really affected you. Promise me that whatever you do, you'll be careful and you'll keep me in the loop."

Emily paused, touched by the concern in her friend's voice. "I promise. This is just something I have to do. I'll keep you updated and I'll probably have to call on you again before long. Don't worry about me; you know I can handle myself. Now…where am I going?"

"Reston, Virginia. It's a small city about thirty five minutes from DC and an hour from Quantico. According to what I've got here, as of the 2000 census the population was 56,407 people. It's no DC, but it's not Mayberry either. Do you have any idea how you're going to go about finding them?" Garcia couldn't shake the unease she was feeling. "Do you want me to let any of the team in on this?"

"To answer your questions in order: yes, I have a pretty good idea of how to find them and no, don't talk to anyone else about this yet. I promise I'll call you if I need you. Until then, let me do this, Ok?" Keys in hand, Emily headed to the door, her cell phone still to her ear.

Registering the underlying edge of desperation in Emily's tone, Garcia agreed, "Fine. But I will be watching you Emily Prentiss. You can bet on that."

"Yeah. I know. Love you too. I'll call soon. Keep your computer warm. I might need it." Emily closed her phone, replaced it in the case on her hip and locked the door to her townhouse behind her.

Reston, Virginia may be a decent sized city, but how many classic '67 Impalas would be driving around? She smiled to herself as she climbed in her car and imagined their surprised expressions when she showed up at the door.

* * *

*Reston, Virginia*

Sam sat once again at the small table in the motel room, laptop open before him, taking notes and analyzing all of the information he had uncovered on one Agent Emily Prentiss. It never ceased to amaze him what could be found on the internet if you knew where to look and how to get around security settings.

The chicken sandwich and side salad they had picked up on the way back sat untouched beside him, each slowly adjusting from their ideal temperature to that of the room around them. Condensation dripped down the outside of his soda as the ice melted inside. He was much too concerned about the newest developments in the case to care about food.

Dean, on the other hand, sat on his bed inhaling his double bacon cheeseburger and fries. Rarely, if ever, did a case-or anything for that matter-come between Dean Winchester and food. "Whatcha got?" he asked Sam between mouthfuls.

"Ok," Sam took a deep breath and began. "Emily Prentiss. Born October 12th. Daughter of Ambassador Elizabeth Prentiss…"

"Ambassador? Seriously? Her mom's an ambassador." Dean swallowed a huge bite "So she's not only FBI, she's also politically connected. Awesome."

"Yeah. Apparently she served in the Ukraine, Italy and somewhere in the Middle East. You sure can pick 'em, dude." Sam shook his head and continued "Anyway, graduated from Yale in 1993, so yes, she is extremely smart. Fluent in Arabic, Spanish, and Italian, as well as some Russian. Joined the FBI around '99 and has been working with the BAU since 2006."

"Wait a second. Back it up. What's the BAU?" Dean swallowed the last bite of burger and washed it down with a swig of soda. Brushing the crumbs off of himself and onto the floor, he tossed the trash in the general direction of the can and moved behind Sam so that he could better see the computer screen.

Sam looked up at Dean and sighed, "From now on, I'm revoking your authority to pick 'em." He turned toward the computer again, "The BAU is an acronym for the Behavioral Analysis Unit. It's a special sector of the FBI that focuses on criminal behavior as a means of investigation. It's more psychological. According to the FBI's own website, 'Behavioral science is all about better understanding criminals and terrorists—who they are, how they think, why they do what they do—as a means to help solve crimes and prevent attacks.'"

"So, like Agent Starling in "Silence of the Lambs"?" Dean asked.

Sam rolled his eyes, leave it to his brother to make a movie reference. "Yeah, pretty much. They try to get inside the criminal's head. It also looks like the particular team she works on is virtually unstoppable. Absolutely every case I've found they've worked on? Closed. I'm not sure bro, but I think we just might be screwed."

* * *

_A/N~I told you it would be coming soon. Time to shamelessly solicit reviews! Hope you're all enjoying_ :o)


	6. Chapter 6

_**Disclaimer**~Still don't own SPN or CM and I never will. What a bummer._

* * *

Music pulsed out of the speakers, thunderous in the confines of the compact car: Metallica's "Fade to Black." One of the few things her team didn't know about her: when she got stressed, Emily always turned to the rebellious music of her youth. Strangely, the frenetic beats calmed her. She wondered what they would think if they knew and what it said about her. It had been nearly an hour since she had hung up with Garcia and she was finally coming close to escaping the nightmare that is DC traffic. Why oh why had she left in the middle of rush hour? She shoved her thoughts aside as she saw a hole open up ahead of her…if she could clear the semi, she'd be home free. Pushing her little Civic to the limit, she wished, not for the first time, that she had a vehicle with more power.

_Like that gorgeous Impala Dean 'Bonham' drives…_late '60s, all steel and muscle. Sexy as hell and obviously well maintained. _She's probably the only woman in his life. _Emily thought with a chuckle, shaking her head. Men and their cars; it really is an unnatural bond. Images of the car came unbidden, creeping in to her skull and nesting there, bringing with them thoughts of the men she was now going in search of.

Her instincts were screaming at her, telling her that she was getting in way over her head. Reaching over to turn down the volume on James Hetfield's growling vocals, she began mulling over the facts as she knew them. She hadn't had much time to profile the two in their initial meeting, but what she had gleaned was crucial.

Number one: they had lied to her. Dean Bonham and Sam Page were not reporters. Dean Bonham and Sam Page did not exist.

Number two: they wanted her to find them. Judging by how quickly they were escorted out, they had to have been in the foyer when Mrs. Benton opened the door; therefore, they heard the woman refer to Emily as 'Agent' Prentiss. Whether they had attributed her agent title to the FBI or not, it was obvious that she was in law enforcement. The intelligence that she had noted in both sets of eyes was keen and she knew that they would eventually put it together. Even the most rudimentary browser search of her name would immediately connect her to the BAU.

Number three: they had been at the Benton's because of Matthew's death. According to their cover, they were writing an article on the exorcism; therefore, they were after the same information she was. Dean-she was now referring to them as just 'Dean' and 'Sam' in her head-had told her that they could help each other. They knew something and she couldn't ignore it. Moreover, she was intrigued.

The highway sign ahead of her stated "Reston, 5 miles." She wasn't sure exactly where she was going. Using the cell phone's GPS, Garcia had been able to narrow the signal down to a ten mile radius on the northern edge of the city. Emily figured her best bet would be to start scoping out all of the inexpensive motels within the circle looking for the Impala. If her hunch was correct, they wouldn't be leaving until she found them, so they would need somewhere to stay. She "binged" Reston motels on her smart phone and began driving toward the first one on the list.

* * *

Sam leaned back in the unpleasant contraption the motel tried to pass off as a chair and stretched, feeling the strain in his muscles as his spine let out a series of small pops. Between the interminable days spent cramped in the Impala and the persistent research time hunched over the computer, his entire body felt knotted. He pressed the heels of his hands into his closed eyes before sliding them to the sides of his head to rub his temples. And he was getting a headache. He huffed out an irritated breath. Super.

He turned his head, gaze resting lightly on his brother. Dean had kicked off his boots and was now leaned back against the headboard of his bed, the two pillows bunched behind him to soften the severity of the angle. An overdeveloped body builder on television was exhorting the virtues of the newest home exercise apparatus, but Dean wasn't watching. Arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed, dozing peacefully; he looked as though he didn't have a care in the world. He certainly didn't appear concerned that he had just effectively laid a scent for the FBI's equivalent of a human bloodhound.

Sam growled his irritation low in his throat as he looked back at the computer screen. He hadn't been exaggerating the BAU's accomplishments. Finger moving easily on the touchpad, he scrolled through the list: compulsive arsonist driven by religious delusions, female serial killer in New Orleans, psychiatrist using patients' fears to kill them, an "angel of death" cop that shot a member of their team he thought was getting too close. He shook his head. Just a sampling of the dozens of cases they had closed. He glanced at Dean again. His brother was number one on the short list of people Sam trusted. If Dean said to wait it out he would, but he didn't have to like it.

He stood up and with his fingers intertwined extended his arms toward the ceiling, pulling them down slowly behind his head, feeling bunched muscles begin to relax as more pops sounded. Spotting his duffle bag on the floor, he scooped it up and began digging around until he found what he was after. The small bottle rattled as he popped it open and shook out three aspirin. Tossing them back dry, he swallowed quickly as three sharp raps sounded at the door.

* * *

Two down, three to go. Emily pulled out of the parking lot of the second budget motel and back into the flow of traffic. Apparently rush hour hit a little later outside of DC proper. A light rain began to fall, the mist swirling in the beams from her headlights and she flicked on her windshield wipers to clear her line of vision. Up ahead she could see the sign for the next motel on her list. _Please let the third time be the charm_, she thought as she flipped on her signal and prepared to make the right hand turn into the parking lot. Her plan of attack so far had been to circle each motel lot looking for the Impala before going into the office to inquire if any guests had such a car. She had struck out twice already, but this one felt different. She had the tingle in her gut that always told her when she was on the right track. She eased her little Civic around the back side of the motel and, in a rush, released the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

There. Sitting in the sparsely populated lot, right in front of the only motel room that showed an outline of light from behind the curtains, was the Impala. She drew in a shaky breath and for the first time really began to wonder if this was a good idea. She had been running on adrenaline when she decided to search them out and had honestly not considered the consequences. It was reckless and not at all like her. Her heart beating wildly, she reached to her side and her Glock, drawing comfort from the feel of it against her palm. She slid her Civic into a parking spot two rooms down from the Impala and removed the key from the ignition.

Breathing deeply, she stepped out of the car and closed the door softly after engaging the locks. She readjusted her holster, sliding the Glock a little farther back on her hip and tucking it under her sweater. She brushed her hair back and walked quietly to the door the thoughts tumbling through her head. She hadn't quite reached the point of no return yet. She could get right back into her car, drive home, open a bottle of wine and watch an old movie. Use her leave of absence to take a vacation, like Hotch had been hinting for her to do.

And yet…she couldn't. Matthew. She was doing this for him. It was finally time to repay him for being her champion so many years ago. Emily stopped, looking at the room number. 237. For the second time in one day she stood before a door, her stomach in knots. Pulling herself up to her full height and squaring her shoulders she knocked sharply, three times.

* * *

A slow smile slid across Dean's face as he opened his eyes and glanced at the hideous sunburst clock on the wall. Three and a half hours. Impressive. Maybe she did have her own geek boy sidekick on retainer. His eyes moved to Sam, standing in the middle of the room with a bottle of aspirin in his had and a sour expression on his face.

"Is the look because of the aspirin, which I'm assuming you didn't wash down, or our visitor?" ignoring Sam's glare he continued on a sigh, "Look dude, we help people. She's a person who needs our help. That's all that matters."

Another knock, louder and more insistent, sounded. Knowing that Sam would refuse to answer the door on principle and disregarding the muttered response that the FBI could help themselves, Dean stood. Sliding his Colt 1911 off of the nightstand and into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back, he strolled to the door. Fixing a self satisfied smirk in place, he slid the security chain out, opened the door and found himself, once more, face to face with Agent Emily Prentiss.

* * *

_A/N~Now we're getting somewhere! Hope you all are still enjoying. Please review...I love reading what you think about the story. And thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far, you're all amazing!_


	7. Chapter 7

_**Disclaimer**~Still don't own either SPN or CM. *sigh*_

* * *

As the noise of her knocks reverberated, Emily realized that her opportunity for retreat was spent. Her stomach rolled…the butterflies that had been fluttering there when she was in front of the Benton's brownstone had mutated. They were now much larger and infinitely more wicked. She heard movement and muffled voices inside the motel room as she reached to knock once more, the crack of her knuckles forceful against the wood. The shuffling drew nearer as she composed her face into a mask of cool indifference. She heard the chain slide out and then found herself, once again, looking up into Dean's impossibly green, smirking eyes.

"Well, Emily Prentiss, color me impressed. What's it been? Three and a half hours? And here I thought we would be a little harder to find." Dean glanced behind her into the parking lot, his forehead furrowing, "It's raining? That's new. Come in. Sammy, we've got company!"

Taken aback by the jovial greeting, Emily wasn't sure how to respond. Her expression remained wary as she stepped over the threshold, noting the thick line of white crystals-salt?-on the floor as she did. Accusing eyes bouncing between Dean and Sam, she settled for the obvious, "You lied to me. You aren't reporters."

"Yep." He grinned unrepentantly as he shut the door behind her, eyes crinkling at the corners "but just a little bit. My name _is_ Dean, Dean Winchester. My brother here's name _is_ Sam and we _are_ investigating the exorcism deaths…just not for an article." He moved to sit down on the corner of the bed and sent her an appraising look. "And to be fair, you weren't entirely honest with us either, FBI Supervisory Special Agent Prentiss of the BAU."

Brothers? She opened her mouth to speak but couldn't find the words. Damn browser searches. Already irritated, she looked toward Sam and was surprised by the thinly veiled anxiety she saw on his face. What could have him so nervous? Her? Curious. Gathering herself, her eyes moved back to Dean's. "I had no reason to identify myself as FBI. I was there on personal grounds, not Bureau business."

"Well that's just semantics isn't it?" he chuckled briefly when she shot him another glare before, sobering. "Look Emily, it is ok if I call you Emily?" at her slight nod he continued, "We've done some research on you. We know what you do. You profile people, right?" another nod. "Well, in our own way we do too. The Benton situation, it's very close to you. Close enough that you went back on your own time without your team to back you up."

"I really don't see where that's any of your business." Emily bristled at the mention of Matthew's family. "Now, why are you so interested in this case? If you aren't reporters, why are you so concerned about unsanctioned exorcisms in Washington DC?"

There it was-a slight tightening in Dean's jaw, a look exchanged between the brothers, an almost imperceptible nod on Sam's part-all in less than a second. Anyone else would have missed it. Expectantly she waited for someone to break the silence.

"Emily, you might want to sit down for this one." Sam's solemn tone caught her off guard. Eyes narrowed, she found her way to the ottoman at the foot of the motel's cheap excuse for an easy chair. "You're a profiler. You get into the heads of the criminals you're trying to catch. When you're interviewing someone, you use body language, eye contact and all of the other little clues that most people ignore or miss completely to identify if someone's lying to you, right?"

"It's more than that, but yeah." She was thoroughly confused now. What was he getting at?

Dean picked up where Sam left off, "Look, what we're about to tell you is going to sound nuts. We are going to sound like crazy people. We get it. But we need you to listen-_really_ listen. I know most of your interpretations of behavior have to be split second. You've spent enough time with us now to get a good read. Can you trust us?"

The flippant retort about always trusting people who lie on introduction died on her lips as she looked first into Sam's anxious hazel and then Dean's astute green eyes. Somewhere in the course of the conversation her defenses had begun to drop. Her gut instinct was that, yes, she could trust them in spite of their initial dishonesty. She nodded slowly, "Yes, I think I can. Now tell me the truth, why are you here?"

Dean stood and began to pace, "You have to promise that you'll let us lay it all out for you before you make your judgment." Her jaw constricted as she nodded yet again. "Ok-Cliff's Notes version. Demons exist. They are everywhere orchestrating the apocalypse. Your friend, Matthew Benton? He actually _was_ possessed." Seeing the look of incredulous fury steal over her face, he held up a hand, "you promised to let us speak our piece. If, when we're finished you still think we're insane, you can leave and we'll stay out of your way. But hear us out." He could see the anger and pain cloud her already dark eyes as she glared at him.

This was too much! Emily's heart twisted, screaming in her chest. Matthew, possessed? For real? No. Possession wasn't real. It was something that only the superstitious and the zealots believed in. Something that weak people clung to as an excuse-_the devil made me do it_. Rational people didn't believe in such nonsense. They couldn't. _You're insane_, she screamed at them in her head. _Insane_!

But…through tears she hadn't noticed until they began to stream down her cheeks, Emily examined Dean. His face was still. Resigned. Weary. Suddenly, he looked much older than his years. Her eyes, still swimming, jerked to Sam. His face mirrored that of his brother. They believed it. They really believed that Matthew was possessed. They believed that demons were attempting to start the apocalypse…the end of the world.

She tried to tell herself that it was ludicrous but somewhere, deep inside, she believed it could be true. Somehow, she knew if it was-if Matthew had truly been possessed by a demon-that she was the root cause and something broke inside of her. All of the feelings she had buried for so long, everything that had resurfaced the second Johnny told her about Matthew's death…guilt that had been festering for nearly twenty years burst within her. Hysterical laughter bubbled up but Emily was powerless to stop it from escaping her mouth. Unable to harness the raw emotion pouring out of her, the laughter turned to weeping. Wrapping her arms around her stomach she doubled over, body heaving with sobs. In her oblivion, she didn't notice the expression the brothers exchanged or the quick game of rock, paper, scissors that took place over her head.

Dean cringed and shook his head when Sam's rock demolished his scissors for the second time. Call it muscle memory but, somehow incomprehensibly, he always threw scissors and Sammy knew it. They needed to come up with a new system. He raked long fingers through his hair in irritation. Instinct told him she was armed. Not willing to get shot for his trouble and cursing his brother, Dean sat gingerly next to Emily on the ottoman, his hand resting lightly on her back. At the human contact, her sobs quieted into a soft, heartbreaking snuffling, but her head remained bowed, dark hair falling like a curtain over her face.

Emily felt someone settle down beside her before a warm hand rested gently on her back. Bent at the waist, her head resting on folded arms in her lap, she attempted to calm her breathing. She slowly straightened, swiping at her face and the remaining tears that clung to her eyelashes. Turning, she saw Dean, his face reflecting pain-for her? He silently held out the roll of toilet paper that Sam had acquired from the bathroom, eyes apologetic. She took the roll from him and stood slowly on unsteady legs. Without saying a word to either man, she made her way to the small bathroom, entered and locked the door behind her as she rested her back against it.

* * *

Dean and Sam exchanged a look as the bathroom door clicked closed. "What do we do now?" Sam asked in a rough whisper.

"We wait," Dean responded, "it's going to take her time to work through this. She's perceptive. If nothing else, she knows that _we_ believe what we're telling her. I could see it in her eyes. She's inquisitive enough that she's going to want more information. And we're going to give it to her. She deserves to know how her friend died."

Sam nodded, his face clouded with apprehension. He still wasn't comfortable with an FBI agent knowing their real names. What would stop her from having someone run a check on them? If she did, it would put them right back on the radar. As far as the FBI, and every other law enforcement agency in the country, was concerned he and Dean had died with Henricksen when the Monument Police station blew up in Colorado. He glanced toward the bathroom, where he could hear the water running. She was shaken up but Dean was right, once she digested what they had told her, she was going to want answers.

* * *

Emily didn't recognize the person in the mirror. The dark eyes that stared back at her were haunted in the pale face. She stepped forward to the sink and twisted the cold water on. Ducking her head, she splashed the frigid liquid onto her face shivering as the bitter sting cut through the numbness. Straightening up, she looked back into the mirror. The color was beginning to return to her cheeks. Looking herself in the eye she began mulling over all that the brothers had told her. Methodically, she listed out the facts the same way she had in the car.

Number one: in all her years, first as the child of a diplomat and then as an FBI agent, if there was one thing Emily had learned to believe in, it was her instinct. The one time she had ignored it…well, suffice it to say the consequences had been so far reaching that she was still seeing the ripples. In this situation, her instincts told her that Sam and Dean were trustworthy. Genuine concern and pain for her had been reflected on both of their faces as they earnestly plead their case.

Number two: their belief in demons and the supernatural was firmly rooted. There were no hesitations in their story, no tells that they were lying. Both of them had made clear eye contact with her. Sam's initial anxiety when she had entered the room was beginning to make sense. He was afraid of how she would react to what they had to say. Dean had even told her that she would believe them to be crazy. They had experienced this before.

Number three: they wanted to help her get to the bottom of what had happened to Matthew. They believed that he had been possessed; therefore, they probably believed that the exorcism was justified, but they were still here investigating the deaths. Why? And then there were Father Silvano's words to her as he was escorted to the police cruiser. "You have just made the world a much more dangerous place."

Emily's stubborn spirit began to reemerge as she stared herself down in the mirror. Her eyes narrowed. She needed to know exactly what had caused Matthew's death and if that meant teaming up with the Winchesters, she would do it. Wiping her face with a rough towel, she ran her fingers through her dark hair. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and stepped back through the doorway into the motel room.

* * *

Dean, recognizing the expression on his brother's face, sent him a quick grin, "Come on Sammy, buck up, we've dealt with worse. I'm telling you, she's going to be a benefit to us here."

"He's right Sam. She is meant to be here." A voice answered behind them. Castiel.

Dean whirled around. "Damn it Cas! What have I told you about that? Warning…and personal space!" he growled.

The angel looked at Dean with his head cocked to the side as he took a step back. "I apologize. You need to know that Alastair will not be a problem for you. We have him contained. You must be careful here, the demons are beginning to gather but we have not yet been able to ascertain the reason."

"Well that's just peachy," Dean threw his hands up in exasperation, "What? No good news? Why am I not surprised?"

"Dean. Alastair's out of the picture. That is good news," His brother's voice cut through Dean's rant, eliciting a small harrumph, as Sam turned to Castiel, "So what's the plan? Find out the reason for the demon jamboree?"

"That would be a start." Cas replied stopping short, his otherworldly blue eyes focused on the door to the bathroom.

Dean and Sam turned in unison as the door opened and Emily stepped back into the room. Her face wasn't as pale and though her eyes were still puffy, they were bright with questions. She started when she noticed the dark haired man in the trench coat standing behind the brothers.

Cas looked her in the eye. "Emily Prentiss, you are exactly where you need to be. The Winchesters will help you find the answers you seek." Then, in a rush of wind and noise of rustling of feathers, he was gone.

* * *

A/N~I know, I know...another cliffie. I will continue updating as quickly as I can write. Hope you all enjoy :o)


	8. Chapter 8

_**Disclaimer**~I just own the story...wish I owned the characters, but no dice. _

* * *

Standing in the doorway to the bathroom, eyes wide, Emily looked back and forth between Dean and Sam, her face paling again. What the hell? Her logical brain tried to make sense of what had just happened, of what she had just seen. The man in the trench coat. He had been right in front of her…and then he wasn't. He just _wasn't_. She had seen it happen-with her own eyes-but she could not for the life of her make sense of it. She had just witnessed a corporeal being disappear. Disappear! Into thin air. All of the rationalizations and bravado she had built up in the tiny bathroom crumbled with her strength. Her breath quickened as she felt her legs turn to jelly beneath her. One hand stretched out to the doorjamb, the wall-anything solid, really-for support as her eyes slid closed.

Oh, crap. _Crap_! Dean read the expression on Emily's face and almost tripped over the foot of the bed in his haste to brace her up before her legs could give out. Slipping one strong arm around her waist he led her back to the ottoman, her holstered Glock digging painfully into his hip. Damn it-Cas really knew how to make an impression. He settled her on the cushion, noting that she automatically lowered her head between her knees in an attempt to, he assumed, make the room stop spinning and level her breathing. Eyes finding Sam's, Dean briefly wondered if the look on his face was as comical as the one his brother was sporting. Sam appeared utterly shell-shocked; his brow furrowed and mouth gaping open as he tried to work out the implications of Castiel's words.

_Now what, Sammy? _Dean's question was written all over his face. The brothers' knowledge of one other was so fundamental, so intrinsic that Dean knew he would understand. Sam shrugged and shook his head with his usual _I have no freakin' clue_ expression fixed in place in response to Dean's unspoken questions.

"Could you two stop with the silent communication?" her voice sounding surprisingly strong even to her own ears, Emily lifted her head and looked at each brother in turn. "I'm not delicate and I'm not dying. I'm just a little freaked out but I'll get over it. Just give me a minute." She lowered her head again, mentally adding 'disappearing trench coat guy' to the list of things she needed clarification on.

Well, wasn't she just full of surprises? Dean chuckled to himself. She was feisty all right. He had a keen sense of the level of strength her job must require but was impressed with her resilience nonetheless. Seeing an angel disappear from in front of you-right after learning a life altering truth like 'demons are real'-might cause a lesser person to crack. Everything that she had always believed about the world was now upside down and yet she could still form coherent sentences. She hadn't turned into a quivering pile of goo. He examined her, his eyes appraising. Interesting.

Feeling stronger, and fairly certain that she could stand without assistance, Emily pushed herself to her feet. Immediately she put one hand to her head as another wave of dizziness rolled over her. Sensing Dean's forward motion rather than seeing it, she put her other hand out to halt him. "Stop." Her eyes opened, the expression in them both pleading and frustrated "Just, stop." She drew in a deep breath musing on how very handy her yoga breathing had been to her lately. After formulating her next thought she pinned the elder Winchester with a glare. "What. The hell. Just. Happened?" Strange. It had been so much more eloquent in her head.

"Oh…well, um…that? Uh…" Dean flashed his trademark charming grin as he stumbled all over himself. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the grin that Sam was trying to hide. Of course. Because it never mattered how dark things might be, if Dean was on the spot-especially if a woman had Dean on the spot-Sammy thought it was funny. He shot a glare at his little brother, which only succeeded in sending Sam into a fake coughing fit as he attempted to cover his laughter. Usually Dean was so good at flying by the seat of his pants. His whole life he had been required to spin a clever cover with no notice. And up until this point he always had been. Of course, up until this point he hadn't had to tell the truth. Or had the incredibly perceptive, snapping chocolate brown eyes of a psychological profiler staring him down either.

"Spit it out, Winchester." All things considered, Emily had recovered her bearings in record time and it was clear she was now in interrogation mode. "Who was 'Trench Coat Guy'? And exactly how is it that he disappeared? What the hell just happened?"

Realizing that Dean had suffered enough, Sam stepped forward. "Emily, his name is Castiel. And if he were here to introduce himself he would tell you that he's an angel of the Lord. He pops in and out-literally-to share information. And as I'm sure you could tell, he's not very good at human interaction." At her incredulous expression, his eyes tightened at the corners pleading with her yet again to hear him out. "Everything we told you, everything about the demons. It's all true. Cas is helping us to stop them. Dean and I…it's our destiny to stop them. And wow, did that sound melodramatic."

"It really did, dude." At the sound of his voice, she looked from Sam to Dean who held his hands up in defeat, "Guilty."

Demons? Angels? And…something else. "He knew my name." Agitated, Emily raked a hand back through her hair. "He said that I was exactly where I was supposed to be and that you two would help me to find the answers."

"Well, Cas is generally spot on. He can be a holy pain in the ass, but he's never purposely sent us in the wrong direction." Dean sat back down on at the edge of the bed eyes focused intently on Emily. "What else do you want to know?"

Following Dean's lead, both Sam and Emily sat as well; Sam on his bed and Emily back on the ottoman. "I don't…" She trailed off, sighing. How do you ask questions when you don't even know what you don't know? Her head was swimming and she was suddenly exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster that her day had been. She closed her eyes, rubbing a hand down her face. To be honest, all she really wanted was to sleep.

Dean could tell that she was emotionally and psychologically spent. Making eye contact with Sam, he stood and headed to the door indicating with a tilted head that his brother should follow him outside. Sam dipped his head once in assent as he stood.

"She can't drive like this, man" Dean stated bluntly as soon as he heard the door click closed behind Sam. "She's totally drained, not that I blame her."

Sam's troubled expression returned. "I know. So what's the plan? You know as well as I do that she's not going to be comfortable staying in the room with us. Something tells me that she wouldn't really want one of us driving her car either. Or knowing where she lives for that matter."

"Go up to the office and see if one of the rooms next door is available." Dean instructed. "Don't use the credit card though; we don't need her getting sucked into the fraud. There should be enough cash left over from that pool game I hustled before we left Ohio. It's rolled up in one of my socks."

Sam grimaced at the thought of digging through Dean's duffle bag in search for the money sock, but agreed that it was the best option. Walking back into the room he went straight to his brother's bag as Dean approached Emily.

"Can I get you some water or something? We have ice." Smooth Winchester, Dean thought to himself. We have ice? "Or maybe a beer?"

The voice broke into Emily's reverie. She looked up at Dean grateful, and nodded. "Yeah-both actually. Throw in a couple aspirin and I think I'll be set." She noticed that Sam had finished with the duffel bag and was stuffing something in his pocket as he walked out the door. He smiled gently at her as he closed the door behind him.

Dean emerged from the bathroom, a small plastic cup of ice water in one hand and a bottle of aspirin in the other. Wordlessly, he handed both to Emily, watching her carefully as he reached into the cooler next to the bed to pull out a beer.

She took the items with a smile, shaking out several aspirin and washing them down with the water. "Thank you. I'm not usually this...expressive. Usually I'm pretty good at keeping myself in check. It's just that…everything…everything I always wrote off. It's all real and I'm not really sure how to comprehend it." She reached for the beer, shaking her head at the sheer insanity of it all before taking a swig.

"I get that. Hell, if we hadn't grown up with it…well, just know that we don't blame you for being thrown off." Dean smiled wryly. "It's a lot to digest."

Grown up with it? Taking another long pull from her beer, Emily studied the man before her. Hmm. She was just about to ask what he meant by his comment when the door opened and Sam stepped in dangling a key from his fingers.

"Both rooms were open, so I went with room 238 because it adjoins to this one." Sam cocked his head to the side indicating a door she hadn't previously noticed.

Dean nodded, "Thanks Sammy." Turning to face Emily he stated, in a tone that brooked no argument, "You're not driving back into DC tonight. You've been through the wringer and you're exhausted."

She bristled at the tone, even though she knew that he was right. "I'll be fine." She argued.

"The room's already paid for. You might as well get some sleep." Dean's tone gentled. "Besides, I know you have more questions. We can go over the rest over breakfast."

Wearily, she admitted defeat with a slight dip of her head before rising up from the ottoman. Taking the keys from Sam's outstretched hand, she walked to the door. "Guess it's a good thing I always keep a go bag in my trunk. Hazards of the job." She quipped, smiling lightly at the brothers, "Thank you for the room."

The boys nodded in unison as the door closed behind her. "Well, this should be interesting." Dean declared. "How much do we tell her?"

Sam hesitated. "She's going to know if we're lying or glossing over the truth. I don't like it, but I think we're going to have to be pretty up front. It's a catch-22. We need her to trust us, so we need to be honest, but if we're honest there's a chance she won't trust us."

Dean huffed out a breath. "Right. So we're screwed." He rubbed a hand roughly down his face, considering all that had happened. "or… maybe not," he amended, pulling two more beers out of the cooler and tossing one to Sam. "Remember Henricksen? He was all about taking us in-until he saw for himself what was out there. Then he realized he was wrong. He recognized that no matter what the official FBI spin was on us-including the crap he had put out-that we actually were the good guys. Emily's already aware. That's gotta work to our advantage."

Sam twisted the cap off his beer. "Yeah. Let's hope." Clinking his bottle to Dean's he took a long drink, face meditative, lost in thought.

* * *

Pulling her go bag out of her car, the fatigue hit Emily like a two by four to the head. She closed the trunk and pressed the lock button on her remote before trudging back to room 238. Opening the door, she was treated to a mirror image of Sam and Dean's room. She dropped her bag onto the bed closest to the door with a sigh and dug through for her toothbrush and an oversized t-shirt. Glancing at the digital clock on the table, she grimaced. 10:30. How had it gotten so late?

Removing her holster, she set her Glock on the bedside table before slipping out of her jeans and sweater. On her way into the bathroom she pulled the t-shirt over her head, marveling at the fact that she was still functioning. Grabbing a rubber band from her bag, she quickly twisted her hair back into a messy bun. She rinsed off what little makeup she wore before brushing her teeth and climbing into bed.

Her thoughts were tumultuous, raging like a storm inside her head as she turned off the light and settled back into the pillow. Demons and angels. Possession. Winchesters. Insanity. _Matthew_.

Her eyes burned with tears that refused to appear. So many tears lately, so much pain. Now she just felt empty. She attempted to pray as her eyes slid closed but it had been so long since she had felt comfortable talking to God. Finally the exhaustion overtook her and she slipped into a deep, troubled slumber.

* * *

_A/N~Just FYI, I'm going to be pretty slammed for the next few days, so I tried not to leave you with too painful of a cliffie. Hopefully I'll be able to update around the beginning of next week...until then, read and review, pretty please? Thanks for all who have done so, thus far. You're awesome!_


	9. Chapter 9

_**Disclaimer**~You know the drill. Still not mine :(_

* * *

Unable to sleep, Dean rolled onto his back with a grunt, the springs in the uncomfortable motel bed squeaking. He ran a hand down his face, rubbing hard at his eyes, before folding his arms behind his head as he mulled over the events of the day.

And a freakin' delightful day it had been, too.

The Winchesters were not unaccustomed to crossing paths with the law in the course of their hunts and if he were to be honest with himself, Dean would admit that it happened more often than not. What they were _not _accustomed to doing; however, was joining forces with said law enforcement. Sure they had made their peace with Henricksen but, as Sam had so aptly pointed out earlier, it had taken the wrath of hell and a possession to convince him that they were not the monsters he believed them to be. And what good had it done them anyway? They finally got their reprieve-just in time for Henricksen to get toasted by Lillith. The only good that had come out of that situation was the assumption that they had died along with everyone else in the station.

Dean sighed, his eyes adjusting to the dim light, and stared up at the smoke and moisture stained ceiling. A dim memory jostled against his dark thoughts and he smiled wryly, remembering how as kids, he and Sammy used to look for pictures in the stains like "normal" kids found them in clouds. His eyes shifted to his brother. Sam lay crosswise, tangled in the sheets, one foot hanging off the corner of the woefully inadequate bed, snoring softly. Dean had tried to make light of Sam's unease but truth be told he was troubled too. He understood the risk they were taking. One phone call. That's all it would take. One phone call to Quantico and they would be right back on the radar…fugitives.

Emily Prentiss. He gritted his teeth, thoughts now firmly parked on the comely FBI agent sleeping in the next room. He still wasn't sure exactly what to make of her. Sam was right when he said that they would have to be honest with her, which had the potential to—and probably would—bite them in the ass.

But…she was obviously desperate for answers. And as she had pointed out, Cas had known her, both by sight and by name. He had said that she was meant to be with them—that they were meant to help her. Meant to. Like a Winchester could walk away from that? He harrumphed to himself. Not even close.

He flipped to his side and growled his irritation low in his throat, punching the pillow into submission. Sometimes he wished that they could just walk away. That the world wasn't depending on them to prevent the apocalypse. That…huh.

A small noise broke through Dean's musings and his ears pricked up in response. Was that…a sob? Abruptly, he sat up and glanced at the alarm clock next to the bed, its numbers glowing an eerie red.

3:30 a.m.

He listened carefully, ears straining. Emily. It was coming from her room. His mind working frantically, he realized that they hadn't given her salt to seal the door or windows with. Demons? Damn it! The sounds of distress began to grow in intensity and were joined by a mad thrashing. Without thinking he jumped out of bed pulling on his jeans and grabbing his sawed off in one motion as he rushed to the door that adjoined their room to hers.

* * *

_Restraints. Incense. Latin. Smoke. Chanting. Tears. Pain. Fear. _

The sobs choking her, Emily struggled in the foreign bed, legs catching in the sheets as she twisted her body in an effort to free herself from the imagined restraints. Soaked in sweat, her body snapped upright. She opened her eyes and stared wildly around the room, trying to find her bearings in the unfamiliar surroundings. She slapped blindly for the switch on the base of the lamp desperately in need of the light, her chest heaving. She was still attempting to calm her breath when the door separating her room from the Winchesters' flew open.

Eyes wide and heart pounding, Emily was flabbergasted to see Dean Winchester standing in the doorway, rumpled, in a pair of jeans and old t-shirt with a sawed off shotgun in his hands and a fierce expression on his face.

"You ok? What was it?" he asked, voice tense as he probed every inch of the room with his eyes.

Her breathing and heart rate slowly returning to normal, Emily pushed her damp bangs back from her face. "A nightmare?" Though she meant it as a statement it came out as a question. Really? Irritated with herself, she blushed deeply and pulled the sheets up tighter when she noticed a sleepy and confused Sam amble up behind Dean, tucking them under her arms. "I…I've been having these dreams. Ever since Matthew…I can't stop them. Every night. Always at 3:30. I'm restrained. Tied down, like Matthew. Like Johnny was when Rossi and I found him and stopped Father Silvano from performing the exorcism. Someone is chanting in Latin and I can smell smoke, incense really. And then I wake up. Usually when I wake up I feel like I'm being watched, like someone's there with me, someone…evil. But this time was different. You were here and I didn't feel…" her voice trailed off softly.

"Sammy, get the salt. Door and windows." Dean instructed, oblivious to Emily's questioning expression.

"On it." Sam was already pulling the small bag of rock salt out of the supply duffle.

"And grab…"

"Got that too." On his way to lay the salt line at the door Sam dropped the small amulet into his brother's outstretched hand.

Cautiously, laying the shotgun on top of the television, Dean approached Emily. He extended the amulet, a small silver charm on a black cord, to her and when she reached out he released it gently into her hand. Bemused, she looked first at him and then at Sam, eyes imploring.

"Put it on." He watched as she slipped the cord over her head. "Don't take it off for anything, not even to shower. It's an anti-possession charm. And whatever you do, don't break the salt lines. Demons can't cross them." Confident that the motel room had been effectively rendered demon-proof and understanding that this was yet another blow to her preconceived notions of the world, he caught Sam's eye and indicated with a tilt of his head that they should head back to their room.

Shooting Emily a small, apologetic smile, Sam headed back to bed.

"You need anything, you call out, got it?" at her nod Dean narrowed his eyes slightly. "I mean it." He said as he picked up his shotgun and walked to the door. "Anything." He closed it softly behind him, leaving a bewildered Emily wondering what exactly had just happened.

* * *

As he climbed back into his own bed, Dean wondered what her nightmares could mean. Someone, some_thing_ rather, was toying with her. But why? He glanced at the other bed, where Sam was already snoring again and sighed deeply. Settling back into the pillow he closed his eyes, exhaustion finally setting in. His last thought as he drifted to sleep was_, Oh yeah. She's definitely going to be trouble._

_

* * *

A/N-Sorry it took so long. I've been a little preoccupied :) Thanks to written_in_dreams for agreeing to be my Beta. I went ahead and posted b/c I was able to call my other go to and read it to her, but I promise next time to wait for your feedback! As always, I covet your reviews. They make me feel all warm and fuzzy! More soon.  
_


	10. Chapter 10

_**Disclaimer**~I think this will be a blanket disclaimer from here on out. I don't own CM or SPN, I never will and it still sucks. That is all._

* * *

_Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz_

Jolted from sleep, Emily's bleary eyes popped open at the grating sound of her cell phone, vibrating on the bedside table next to her holster. She stole a glance at the alarm clock. 7:30. Seriously? Groaning, she pushed herself into a sitting position against the headboard and grabbed the offending device, eyes landing briefly on the display.

JJ. Crap.

Another groan worked its way out as Emily realized that she had totally neglected to call, even though she had promised Garcia that she would touch base with the rest of the team. Hindsight being 20/20, it struck her that Garcia had probably meant she should them call immediately but she had been too preoccupied for it to register at the time. Emily chuckled lightly. In light of the previous night's events she figured she was entitled to be a bit scattered but, considering that she still hadn't quite figured out how to process said events and would therefore not be mentioning them, she knew her team would not agree. Sighing heavily and shoving her bangs out of her face, she flipped open the phone, expression tentative.

"Emily!" JJ burst out before Emily could even greet her, "Thank God! Where are you? I've been calling your cell for the past two days! Just tried your townhouse but, surprise! There was no answer there either. Are you _trying_ to freak us out? Because, just so you know? Totally succeeding."

The uncharacteristically frazzled tone in JJ's voice caught Emily off guard and tinged her response with remorse, "I'm sorry J. Really. I didn't mean to drop completely off the radar. I talked to Garcia yesterday and I guess I figured she'd let you know I was ok. I'm in Reston. I had some personal business to attend to out here which took longer than expected, so instead of trying to drive back into the city, I just got a motel room and crashed for the night."

"Reston?" Content that her friend was alive and safe, JJ flipped her long blond hair over her shoulder, a puzzled expression on her face. "What are you doing in Reston? Do I even want to know?"

_Oh JJ, you have no idea how badly you don't want to know_, Emily thought with chagrin. JJ was one of her closest friends but she was also an agent and though not officially a profiler, she was perceptive in her own right. Until Emily had more details and a better feel for the Winchester brothers she was going to play this hand close to the vest. Eyes closed, she focused on making sure her voice sounded neutral and lied through her teeth. "Nah. It's nothing big. I'll fill you in later. Just do me a favor and let everyone know I'm alright, ok?"

"Mmhmm." The skepticism was clear in JJ's tone. Emily knew that tone and could almost see the calculating expression playing across her friend's face. "You know I will but don't be surprised if Morgan calls you. And soon. He's already griping about missing his partner. With you on leave, he's stuck with Reid and you know Morgan can only partner with him one on one for so long." She hesitated before speaking, her words eerily similar to both Garcia's and Dean's from the day before. "Em, I'm serious about this. Remember, if you need anything, you call. Got it?"

"Of course. I'll talk to you soon J, I promise." Emily flipped closed the phone feeling a little guilty for her blatant deception as she stretched and climbed out of bed heading for the shower. As she turned the water on and slipped out of her t-shirt, she soothed her prickled conscience by rationalizing that no one on her team, including JJ, would believe the truth-at least not yet. She rolled her eyes stepping into the shower, the thin black cord Dean had given her still around her neck. Of course she couldn't expect them to believe her. Hell, she had seen it with her own eyes and still didn't know what to believe.

The Winchesters had a lot of explaining to do she thought as she lathered up her hair. Oh yes-a lot of explaining.

* * *

After a night of restless tossing and turning, Dean awoke with a crick in his neck and an attitude to beat the devil. He rubbed his eyes, gritty from lack of sleep, growled an unintelligible reply at Sam when his brother greeted him with a cautious "Good morning. I got coffee," grabbed the cup sitting on the bedside table, and went straight to the bathroom. A moment later he returned, snatched up his duffle bag and then stalked back to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Sitting once again at the tiny table, with the latte he had picked up and his laptop open before him, Sam rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. As he slowly released the breath he heard the shower turn on and then Dean's curse as he stepped under the scalding stream. "Well this day should be just fantastic," he muttered sarcastically to himself, "running block between a pissed off Dean and a twitchy FBI agent. Just what I was hoping for." He twisted from one side to the other in an attempt to release the tension that had returned to his back during a night cramped in yet another too small bed and, hearing the welcome series of pops, settled in to map out their plan of action for the day.

His concentration was broken minutes later by a soft knocking at the door adjoining their room to Emily's. After unfolding his body and rising from the ridiculously uncomfortable chair he stretched and walked to the door. Opening it revealed the agent, freshly showered and dressed in a long sleeved green t-shirt, dark jeans and boots, her hand raised to knock again. With a shy smile that exposed both of his dimples, Sam greeted her quietly. "Good morning."

Emily looked up at Sam Winchester and couldn't help but smile back. For such an imposing figure he was unexpectedly reserved. "Good morning to you too. I thought I smelled coffee?"

A guilty look played across his face. "Uhh. I got coffee for Dean and I. I'm sorry. I'm not used to having a third person around…do you want my latte?" He noticed her head shaking no and quickly added, "I only took a sip. I don't mind if you don't." It suddenly dawned on him that they were still standing in the doorway. "Come in and sit down. He's in the shower but should be out any second."

Emily chuckled slightly at the awkwardness of the conversation as they took the few steps to the small table. Talk about an elephant in the room; neither one of them seemed prepared to bring up the events of the previous night. "Don't worry about the coffee. It's ok. We should probably figure out what we're going to do for breakfast anyway. I can wait until then." She sat down at the table opposite the chair that Sam claimed. She rested her chin on her hand, face pensive as he returned to tapping away at his laptop keys.

Where did one begin in a situation such as this? 'So by the way, thanks for saving me from my possibly demonic nightmare?' or 'Glad you guys had salt on hand, I never would have thought of that?' Maybe 'Love my new anti-possession necklace?' Or how about 'Got a license for that sawed off?' And what was she going to tell the BAU team? It was obvious from the persistence in JJ's line of questioning and the unsubtle reminder about Morgan, that she would only be able to hold them off for so long. Thoughts swirling in her mind, Emily found herself getting anxious again. Frustrated by her lack of control, she took a deep breath and tried to focus on something less stress inducing.

"So…what are you thinking food-wise? Sit down or drive through?" Sam's inquisitive voice broke into her thoughts.

"Hmm? Oh, I don't know. Why don't we wait until Dean can give some input too? I could go for anything." Emily looked up at the sound of the bathroom door opening. "Well, speak of the devil," she said under her breath, before paling as her words hit home. Even that colloquialism had lost its charm in light of the facts. Painting on a hollow smile she looked up at Dean, hair still damp from his shower, and greeted him with a lightness she did not feel, "Good Morning."

* * *

A string of curses leaving his lips as he stepped into the shower, Dean's hand shot out to readjust the water temperature. As the scalding flow eased into a manageable degree of warmth, he moved fully under the spray allowing the meager pressure to work on the knotted muscles of his neck and sighed.

He began rehashing all of the thoughts that had kept him awake through the long night. Despite his bravado with Sam, he definitely had his reservations on how to handle the situation with Emily and the uncertainty made him nervous. They would have to be honest—they had already established that fact—but the concern that it would come back to bite them wasn't something to be taken lightly. The memories of living with Henricksen on their trail were all too fresh. Turning his face into the shower stream, eyes closed against the flood, he conceded that at this point he would simply have to trust that Cas was right: Emily Prentiss was personally involved in this case and had come into their lives for a reason.

Rinsing the last of the shampoo from his hair Dean turned off the water and wrapped one of the threadbare motel towels around his waist before stepping out of the shower. He dragged clothes from his duffle and made a mental note, if the smell wafting up from inside the bag was any indication, they would need to find a laundromat and soon.

Twisting on the faucet, he filled the sink with warm water so that he could shave before taking a long swig of his coffee and wiping the steam away from the mirror with a second towel. Looking up, he registered the exhaustion in his bloodshot green eyes and the fading dark circles that cupped them from below. One of these nights he'd get a decent night's sleep again. He shaved quickly, managing to only nick himself once on the neck, before slipping into a pair of worn jeans and a soft black t-shirt and ambling back into the motel room—stopping short when he saw that Sam wasn't alone at the table.

* * *

Sam turned away from the attractive and surprisingly serene agent sitting across from him to look at his brother, a cautious expression on his handsome face. Dean's morning disposition was rarely chipper but today he had been extraordinarily unpleasant—like an angry grizzly bear. Sam knew intrinsically that his rough night was linked to this woman. He also knew, despite Dean's show to the contrary, that his brother was concerned about what their alliance with her might mean for them. He cleared his throat, face tense as he looked back and forth between the two.

"Good morning." Emily greeted Dean with a slight smile.

He dipped his head at her in response and glanced at Sam, composed features not betraying the shock he felt at how at ease she seemed with them; especially considering they had busted into her room in the middle of the night with shotguns and salt. He noticed a black cord poking out from the neck of her long sleeved t-shirt. So she was still wearing the anti-possession necklace he had given her the night before. Good.

"Sam and I were just discussing breakfast. I don't know about you but I'm starving. I was too keyed up to eat on my way here yesterday, so…" she trailed off.

Predictably, Dean perked up at the idea of food and more coffee, his stomach growling in response. "Breakfast would be awesome. And I'm sure you have questions…" at her nod he continued, "we can either go to a diner somewhere and sit down or we can get fast food and bring it back here. Sammy? What do you think?"

Sam's brow knit in thought. "Well, we could talk with more privacy here but to be honest, I just don't think I can do another McMuffin."

Easing back into his comfortable cocky, take-charge persona, Dean sat on the edge of the bed pulling on his boots as he responded, "A diner it is then. There's gotta be one nearby. Come on. We'll take the Impala." Pulling on a flannel shirt over his tee with the sleeves already rolled up to his forearms and grabbing his jacket off of the back of the chair he jingled the keys. "Oh, and Emily? First thing you need to know. In my car house rule number one is: Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole. You've been warned." He flashed a grin. "Now let's roll. I'm starving!"

* * *

_A/N~I am SO SORRY that it took me so long to post this chapter...RL has been insane lately and to be completely honest this chapter has been a pain in the toucas to write. I feel like I'm hitting my stride again though, so the wait shouldn't be nearly as long for the next chapter. Hope you all enjoy and again, thanks for sticking with me! Remember reviews are love, so please show some! Y'all are awesome :)_


	11. Chapter 11

In the course of his morning "research" Sam had turned up a hole in the wall diner a few blocks away from the motel. On a good day it would have been worth walking; however, as they exited the room Emily was glad that Dean had made the executive decision to drive. The sky retained the dull, steely gray blanket of clouds that hinted snow and a knifelike wind cut through her myriad layers of clothing straight to the bone.

A shudder ran through her. _Someone's watching_. The thought came suddenly, unbidden, causing her to stop in her tracks. Gooseflesh raised the hair at the back of her neck and she shivered again, hackles rising, senses hyperaware. Utilizing all of her ingrained powers of observation, she glanced around nonchalantly taking in her surroundings. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, she mentally shook herself and attempted to shrug off the apprehension before scowling at her own paranoia. _Of course you're going to shiver Emily, _she thought with a soft, self deprecating snort. _It's freaking freezing! Spring my ass._ Her eyes swept another wide arc before settling on Sam, standing several paces ahead of her, waiting patiently with an unreadable expression on his face. Her second visual sweep came up as clean as the first; nevertheless, the tightness that lingered in her chest eased a hair when her hand grazed the Glock once again nestled close to her side in its holster.

* * *

A feeling of unease unfurled in Sam's gut as the trio stepped out into the parking lot. Exposed. He felt exposed. As if someone-or _something_-was watching them. His eyes shot to Dean and he could tell from his brother's defensive posture and furrowed forehead that he felt it too. Their eyes met and an electric current of understanding passed between them. Dean flicked a glance in Emily's direction before purposefully meeting Sam's eyes again. She had come to a dead halt immediately outside of the room. Sam dipped his chin in assent and stopped as well, casually waiting for her to resume walking. Neither Winchester wanted to let on to whatever was watching that they were aware of its presence. Sam watched as Emily shook off the momentary paralysis and then brushed a hand across her side. Drawing comfort from the Glock she carried, no doubt.

"You comin'?" he asked lightly, the tight smile on his face not quite reaching his eyes.

Emily brushed her bangs back and looked up at him, noting the tightness around his eyes and rhythmic clenching of his jaw. Hmm. So he had felt it too. Interesting.

She nodded and fell into step beside him as they continued the rest of the way to the Impala where Dean was waiting, already inside, the driver's door open. Tamping down on her revived apprehension, Emily refocused her thoughts, allowing herself a small envious sigh as she took in the perfection of the car's lines and mentally squelching her overwhelming urge to stroke a hand down her sleek side.

"I'll take the back." Sam offered, his smooth voice again interrupting her contemplation.

She startled, attention leaving the car and turning to the younger Winchester. "You don't have to do that. I can sit in the back. I mean, I know it's bigger than most but wouldn't you be cramped?" She eyed his long legs with concern before returning her gaze to his face.

"Nah, it's good. The backseat's roomy and we aren't far from the diner, so it doesn't much matter. Besides, I've been in tighter." His mind flashed to the times he'd been stuck in the cramped backseat of Bobby's Chevelle and a grimace crossed his face. "Much tighter." He gestured to the front again as he opened the back door. "It's all yours."

Smiling in gratitude, Emily opened the passenger side, cringing a little at the screech of metal on metal as the door swung outward before sliding herself onto the bench seat and pulling it closed behind her. The interior had long since lost its pristine "new car" smell but the one that replaced it, a masculine mix of leather and musk, was both potent and intimate and she found herself immediately comfortable, wrapped in the car's embrace.

"Gotta let her warm up for a minute," Dean cranked the key in the ignition and the engine came to life with a deep, low growl. "The old girl loves the cold but she needs some time to adjust."

As his callused hands lovingly caressed her worn steering wheel, Dean breathed a soft sigh of relief and felt the knots of anxiety in his shoulders loosen slightly. The Impala was the closest thing to a home he and Sammy had ever known and he always felt more at ease within her confines. Satisfied that the engine had been given enough time to properly warm up, he shifted into reverse and eased the car out into the parking lot, mindful of the icy patches that littered the lot like mines. Between the ice and the silence he felt the edginess creeping back in. Remembering that he had left his Metallica tape in the player, he reached over to turn up the volume with his right hand, filling the car with the opening strains of "Nothing Else Matters."

Emily perked up as the familiar opening began to play. Metallica, huh? One of their more mellow offerings but the result would be the same. Smiling to herself, she settled back into the seat and started humming softly along with the melody. Her eyes drifting shut, she didn't notice the sidelong glance from the elder Winchester or the look he exchanged in the rearview mirror with Sam.

_She was nervous. And now she's not as nervous. Because she's humming Metallica? Seriously?_ Gazing surreptitiously at Emily out of the corner of his eye, Dean could actually see the tension drain from her face. Sam had noticed as well, if the sharp poke to his back through the seat was any indication. His eyes met those of his brother in the rearview. Sammy had always given him a hard time about his "anti-Zen" Metallica relaxation technique but apparently he wasn't the only one who found comfort in chaos. She was becoming more interesting to him by the minute.

The song had barely begun when Dean turned the Impala into a tight parking lot pitted with potholes. In spite of the music, a small knot of apprehension reappeared in his stomach. He attributed it to the inability to find a protected parking spot for his baby. He refused to acknowledge that it could have anything to do with the conversation he and his brother were about to embark on with the woman-the FBI agent-sitting beside him. After circling the lot once, he finally came upon one that wouldn't give him an aneurysm and slid the car in between the lines before shifting into park.

_Trust I seek and I find in you/Everyday for us something new/Open mind for a different view..._Emily's closed eyes popped open as the song abruptly cut off with the engine. She looked disappointed, and as apprehensive as Dean felt, "Already?" She eyed the dilapidated storefront diner dubiously and mumbled "Well, at least they'll have coffee," as they stepped out of the car and made their way to the door.

* * *

Fortunately the breakfast rush was ending and the dining room was beginning to clear out by the time Emily and the Winchesters arrived, leaving them the pick of tables. A frazzled heavyset waitress, busy closing out tabs, waved to them telling them to "Sit wherever ya'd like" as Dean did a quick recon of the layout.

It was a typical setup. The main front entrance faced a long counter behind which was an open area for the waitresses and a pass through to the kitchen. Booths lined the front window and walls and tables were evenly spaced throughout the middle. At the rear, to the right of the counter, was a hallway that led to the restrooms and back exit. The décor appeared to be original, circa 1968. Many of the formica topped tables were chipped around the edges and the red vinyl covered seat cushions torn but overall it was clean and the food smelled delicious.

Emily noticed the brothers exchange another wordless communication before Sam nodded and headed for the hallway with the restrooms. Dean glanced at her and tilted his head in the direction of the large corner booth, "Work for you?"

"Mmmhmm." She responded, suddenly at a loss for words. That elephant was getting bigger every second.

Dean stepped back to allow Emily to pass, noting that she chose the spot he normally would: in the corner, facing the door, her back to the wall-the most defensible position the booth offered—before sliding in across from her.

"The back door's an emergency exit. You can get out but it's locked to the outside, so no one should be able to get in that way. I checked it. Seemed sturdy." Sam stopped before sitting down, silently asking Emily's permission to sit beside her. At her nod, he dropped into the booth, folding his long legs under the table.

"Coffee?" The frazzled waitress, 'Louise' according to her nametag, appeared with a steaming pot in one hand and three menus in the other.

"Absolutely," Dean replied, shooting the matronly woman a devastating smile before flipping his mug upright on the saucer. "We could all use the pick me up this morning."

She smiled, a blush creeping up her pudgy face as she filled mugs and deposited menus. "I'll just give you a second. Be right back to get your order."

"Thank you, sweetheart." Dean tossed offhandedly, looking down at the menu.

"Dude, seriously. You and waitresses." Sam chuckled, breaking the tension, as the woman scuttled away still blushing.

"What can I say? I'm a charmer." He shrugged before propping his left arm up on the back of the booth, eyes glinting with mischief, the trademark smirk Emily had learned to associate with him adorning his face.

In spite of the brothers' easy banter, the air around the booth was charged with contradiction-the silence both companionable and wary-as the three perused the menus.

"Y'all ready to order or do you need a few more minutes?" Louise asked upon her return, pen hovering above her order pad.

"I'll have the special with side of bacon—extra crispy." Dean closed the menu and handed it over with a wink.

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean's predictability. "Always with the special and the bacon." Shifting his attention back to Louise he put in his order for "A short stack with a side of sausage, please."

"And for you, sweetie?" Louise asked Emily whose eyes were still on the menu.

"Ummm. I think I'm going to do the special as well but with a side of sausage and an order of homefries. Oh and a biscuit instead of the toast. Thanks." She closed her menu and passed it to Louise with a smile. Glancing across the table she registered the astonishment in Dean's eyes. "What? I eat. And again, I skipped dinner yesterday. I'm starving."

Putting up his hands in mock surrender, Dean chuckled. "Sorry. Far be it from me to insult a hearty eater. Ask Sam. I can't cast any stones. I'm already planning on after breakfast pie."

Sam nodded sagely. "He's right. Dude never stops eating. And at the most inappropriate and inopportune times. Like once when…" he trailed off, realizing that any story he told would lead right back to the giant supernatural elephant that they had all been avoiding.

* * *

Awkward couldn't begin to describe the silent void Sam's hesitation left. The air surrounding the table became loaded-stifling. Emily looked from Sam to Dean and back again, the realization that the time had come to discuss, well, _everything_, suddenly crystal clear.

Dean watched Emily's expression morph into resigned understanding and coughed lightly, if only to break the tension. "So…like I said back at the motel, I'm sure you have questions…If you're ready, I'm pretty sure we have answers."

She looked at him, her deep brown eyes darker than normal with emotion—fear, sadness, resignation, and a few others that he was hesitant to name. "To be honest, I don't even know where to start."

Dean pursed his lips and nodded. "Yeah, I get that. Me and Sammy, we've been around it all so long that it's just life to us but we know that it can be overwhelming for civilians."

_Civilians?_ He said it like they were soldiers in a war-which if she thought about it, they probably were. "How long? Have you been around it, I mean. You said something last night about growing up with it. What does that mean?"

The brothers exchanged yet another long look, as though they were discussing who would respond and how much information to give without needing to say a word to one another. Dean nodded slightly and broke contact first, dropping his eyes to the table as he reached for his coffee.

Sam cleared his throat and waited until she looked over at him before answering. "Our whole lives." He glanced at Dean again and, receiving a nearly imperceptible nod, continued, "When Dean was four and I was six months old, our mom…well, she died. It was a fire. It started in my nursery in the middle of the night and it wasn't…it wasn't exactly a natural occurrence. Her scream woke our dad but by the time he got into the room she was pinned to the ceiling bleeding from her abdomen and before he could do anything she burst into flame. He got me out of the crib and passed me off to Dean. Told him to go outside and not to look back. Dad went back in to try to save her but couldn't. He got out right before the room exploded. After that…well, Dad was a Marine. Finding the thing—the demon-that killed her became his mission. He researched. Learned everything he could about the supernatural. How to hunt. How to exorcise. How to kill. In the course of that we traveled from place to place, helping people. Saving them. Hunting the things that polite society has deemed nonexistent. We were raised like soldiers, on the road and we learned right along with him."

By the end of Sam's monologue, Emily knew that her mouth was hanging open but somehow, she couldn't find the wherewithal to remedy it. A demon had killed their mother? She glanced at Dean. His averted green eyes were clouded and his jaw taut with the pain that the memory invoked. They had been so young, babies the both of them. A mere two days ago she would have declared them insane, but today? Not so much. Today she had a brand new frame of reference. Suddenly her appetite wasn't quite as hearty as it had been.

The tumultuous thoughts storming through her head were broken by Louise's return with their breakfasts. "Ok…I got a special with extra crispy bacon, a short stack with sausage, and a second special with all the rest. I'll be back in just a sec with your syrup and to warm up your coffees as well. Can I getcha anything else? Ketchup? Hot sauce?" She waited expectantly.

"Sure sweetheart. Go ahead and bring both." Dean flashed his charming grin again, though this time it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"You got it darlin'." She turned away only to return moments later with the promised items. Setting the syrup, hot sauce and ketchup on the table, she refilled their coffee mugs and returned to the counter, once again leaving the threesome in silence.

Dean grabbed the hot sauce and began liberally seasoning his entire plate of food before grabbing a fork and digging into his eggs. He looked back up at Emily who had barely acknowledged the full plate before her and grinned again. "Come on now. I've been looking forward to seeing you tackle all of that. Course if you're not gonna eat it…" the grin worked its way up and set his eyes to sparkling, leaving only a faint trace of tension.

"Oh no. I'm going to eat it. I just…well, this is all going to take some getting used to." She reached for the bottle of ketchup and squeezed some onto her homefries before picking up the salt shaker and sprinkling some of the fine crystals over her plate. "Why salt?"

"Hmmm?" Dean mumbled around a mouthful of food.

"Why do you use salt to-what did you call it last night?-seal my door and windows?" She placed a small forkful of potatoes into her mouth and chewed carefully.

Swallowing he replied, "Demons and ghosts can't cross a solid salt line. We aren't really sure exactly _why_ it works, we just know it does. Supposedly salt is an ancient symbol of purity and since demons are impurity personified…well, that's what we go with. Iron's the same."

"And my necklace? How does it keep me from getting possessed?" she fingered the black cord around her neck.

"It was blessed by close family friend who is much more knowledgeable than we are about all of this. The charm is both another ancient symbol and silver, so it's a double whammy." Sam replied.

"If it can keep a person from being possessed then why don't either of you wear one?" Her expression was genuinely confused.

Another look; Dean's turn to answer. "We're covered. We both went for something a little more permanent." At her quizzical look he elaborated, "It's a protection symbol we each have tattooed on our chest."

Now for the hardest question. She could feel her stomach clench, the food she had managed to force down rolling, as she formulated it in her mind. "You said that Matthew was definitely possessed. How do you know for sure? You never met him, so how could you possibly know?" Her voice broke on the final syllable. The anguish shone in her eyes and she clenched her fork in her hand tight enough to turn her knuckles white.

Sam reached over and laid a gentle hand on her forearm, soothing her hand out of the fist. His eyes and voice were soft when he responded, "We spoke to his parents at length. Everything they told us matches up with what we know to be true in cases of demonic possession. He was away from them for an extended period and when he returned he seemed like a completely different person. There were times that his eyes would appear totally black. Understand me on this one Emily. We aren't talking "fully dilated pupils" black. We're talking full on, "whole, entire visible eye including the white" black. His parents saw it but they wrote it off as a trick of the light. We know it wasn't."

Dean had finished his breakfast and after taking another swig of coffee, picked up where Sam left off. "We also looked into the priest. Father Paul Silvano? Turns out, he's basically the Vatican's version of us. Whenever they can document an unexplained rash of possessions, he's their go-to guy. One of the best there is." He examined her expression closely before continuing, gentling his tone because he knew that what was coming would be another blow, "The problem with exorcisms is they don't always end well. A lot plays into what kind of shape the host will be left in—into whether he or she will survive. How strong he or she is. How strong the demon is. How long the demon has had its hold. From what Matthew's parents told us, he had been struggling with a lot of issues for a long time. It made him easy prey."

Everything that the Winchesters had explained to her began jockeying for position in her consciousness. Puzzle pieces fell into place. The understanding that she been a key player in the deportation of the Vatican's strongest demon hunter caused Emily to blanch. Her already frantic thoughts shifted into overdrive and she became lightheaded when she realized that she had been right. She _was_ the reason that Matthew had been possessed. If it hadn't been for the events in Rome…her mistakes…that priest and his intolerance…Matthew wouldn't have lost his faith and slipped into the downward spiral that made him demon fodder. Her eyes welled with tears. She blinked, sending them rolling unchecked down her cheeks before she suddenly stiffened, gasping as a new realization overtook her.

She had to get out of the diner. Heart pounding a frantic tattoo she slid toward the opening of the booth, her breath hitching in her chest. Caught up in her own thoughts, she hadn't noticed that Sam had left the booth. She was going to suffocate. Outside. She had to get outside. She could feel herself hyperventilating but knew that there was nothing she could do about it. Calming her breathing wasn't an option. She had to get _out_. She pushed herself up from the booth's cushioned seat and immediately felt her legs give way beneath her weight. Suddenly strong arms wrapped around her waist from behind, righting her. Dean. She felt his breath tickle her ear and for some reason the sensation alleviated her panic slightly.

"I've got you" he murmured, his deep voice vibrating through her. Easing around to her side he caught her eye, "You're alright. I have you. I won't let you fall. Work with me ok, Emily? I'll get you outside."

* * *

The Winchesters sat silently, helplessly, watching as Emily processed the massive quantities of incomprehensible information that they had shared with her. They exchanged a glance as the storm clouds rolled across her face before Sam stood quietly and made his way over to the counter to take care of their bill. In hindsight, he decided it probably would have been a better idea for them to pick up take out but fortunately no one had been paying attention to their conversation. Using the last of the cash Dean had hustled out of the pool hall in Ohio, he settled their tab and slipped Louise a healthy tip.

He turned around, expecting Dean and Emily to be right behind him, ready to go. Glancing back at their table he saw Emily's face register an agonizing realization before she stiffened and let out a small, involuntary gasp. Her breathing hastened and she pushed her way shakily to the booth's opening. She was having a panic attack. He watched as she attempted to stand and saw her legs go out from underneath her. Before Sam could react, Dean rocketed himself out of his seat and caught her from behind, whispering something to her as he moved into a better position. He braced her up the way he had in the motel when Cas made his grand entrance—or exit as it were-and, still speaking softly, began leading her toward the door.

"Oh, goodness! Is she alright?" Louise asked Sam as Dean walked Emily out the front door of the diner.

Sam glanced at the troubled waitress and injected calm confidence into his voice, "Yes ma'am. She just got some bad news. Her brother had an accident. We're going to get her home." It wasn't a total lie. "Thank you again. Everything was great."

* * *

_A/N~I apologize for the delay guys. This was another super tough one to write (plus it's longer) so it took me more time than I expected. Thank you to everyone who has added this as a favorite or to their story alerts. I'm touched :) Oh yeah...and I've discovered that reviews are like my version of crack-I can't get enough! If you enjoy...please review. Your feedback can only make it better!_


	12. Chapter 12

_**A/N~**Just FYI I've made a couple of very minor tweaks...a few things that didn't sound right to me...nothing major or probably even noticeable to anyone else. Just my OCD rearing its ugly head again. I know this chapter is mostly exposition and internal thoughts/feelings; therefore it is not the most exciting, but it is necessary to the overall story. Enjoy!_

* * *

_Real. All real. Matthew's possession. My fault. All my fault!_ The rampaging thoughts repeated on a continuous loop in Emily's head like a broken record on a turntable. Though she was no longer hyperventilating, the lightheadedness remained. Vaguely, it dawned on her that she was walking and she somehow understood that the only thing keeping her trembling form upright was the solid warmth of Dean's steady arm around her waist. Her frantic mind latched onto the soothing, velvety timbre of his voice as he whispered calm words of reassurance in her ear.

"Breathe Emily. You're fine. I've still got you and I'm not going anywhere. We're almost to the car. Steady."

The words didn't matter—he could have been mumbling random gibberish for all she cared. What mattered was that he was there, keeping her balanced. Very little had the power to knock Emily Prentiss off balance. Apparently demons needed to be added to the shortlist. Had she not felt so emotionally drained she might have been embarrassed. Her career, her life really, was spent hunting down society's most vile offenders. She had interviewed perpetrators of rape, murder, torture, kidnapping and every criminal subset in between. She had experienced the fallout from the brutality of human psychoses. She had, on many occasions, been the person charged with looking desperate mothers in the eye before crushing their dreams by informing them that their babies would never be coming home.

She was strong….independent…fierce, even.

Usually.

But right now? Right now she was terrified and anxious and vulnerable.

Tomorrow she would pick herself back up and dig deep into her hidden well of strength and fortitude. Tomorrow.

Right now she just wanted someone to take care of her; to hold her; to make her feel safe.

The icy air stung her tear streaked cheeks but she couldn't find the energy to even lift her hand to wipe them away. Sniffing back the torrents that once more threatened, she heard the jingle of keys and the metal on metal creak of the Impala's door opening before Dean gently eased her into the backseat. She slumped into the car, lost and defeated and feeling his warmth slipping away, clutched desperately at his hand.

"Stay with me. Please?" As the words passed her lips, Emily cringed. She hated how small her voice sounded. How weak. She hated that she could not make herself let go of his hand, no matter how hard she tried. And she hated the tears that once more crested her lids and trickled down her face.

Dean read the anguished darkness in her tear ravaged eyes and his heart clenched. He of all people could understand what the request took out of her. Her pride. Her dignity. He also knew—though she hadn't yet shared—that her most recent realization had shaken her to the core. He acquiesced with a nod, more from the pleading glance she sent him than the iron grip she had on his hand, though the grip could not be discounted. Lowering himself with a surprising grace to the seat, he slid in and, gently detaching her hand from his, awkwardly wrapped a muscular arm around her trembling shoulders-wanting, no _needing_, to imbue her with a portion of his strength. He shifted away slightly, long enough to pull the door closed, before once more settling her stiff form against his side. His mind flashed to their ride to the diner and, inspired, he began tentatively humming "Nothing Else Matters."

Though the pitch was slightly off, the familiarity of the song broke through Emily's tortured thoughts. She recognized that he was attempting to put her at ease and was struck by the astounding sweetness of the gesture. The words danced through her head in tune with the melody and in spite of the circumstances a fleeting smile crossed her face as her tears slowed.

Still humming, the volume rising as his tone became surer; Dean felt the tightness across Emily's back release as she relaxed slightly against his side. Her head dropped to his shoulder tentatively and almost self consciously, as though she was too tired to hold it up any longer yet embarrassed to be leaning upon him. His heart clenched again at her vulnerability and he gritted his teeth. Where was Sam? Eyes sweeping the parking lot, he finally caught sight of his brother pushing through the diner's front door and breathed a sigh of relief as he shifted to fish the car keys back out of his jacket pocket.

Pulling his jacket tight against the frigid air, Sam carefully made his way across the pothole pitted parking lot. As he approached the waiting Impala he wondered why she was silent. Generally Dean would have her warmed up by now, engine idling at a purr and music thumping through the speakers. As he approached he realized that his brother wasn't in the driver's seat and his brow furrowed with concern. Straightening up, eyes alert, he did a visual sweep of the parking lot though the sensation of being watched was absent. He looked back toward the car and on closer inspection could make out the two figures sitting in the back seat. Comprehension dawning on him, he hurried forward and opened up the driver's door. Slipping in out of the cold he turned to retrieve the keys from Dean's outstretched hand. If he noticed the tune his brother was still lightly humming or the rhythmic stroke he had begun to trace up and down Emily's arm he made no mention, simply turned back around in the seat and started the car.

As the engine fired, the tape picked back up where it had left off in the player. With the resurgence of the song, there was no longer a reason for Dean to hum but he continued anyway. Emily sighed, still attempting to draw comfort from the low rumble resonating from his chest as ever more disturbing thoughts tumbled through her head. No matter how she looked at it an unavoidable truth kept surfacing.

If Matthew was possessed and Father Silvano was a Vatican trained demon hunter, then Johnny was possessed as well. This was the thought had come to her in the diner. The thought that had precipitated her panic attack. Logically it followed—Father Silvano had been looking for what he believed to be a demonic conduit and had found it in Johnny. He had attempted an exorcism to rid Johnny of the demonic force, which she interrupted—and if that was the case then somehow all of the demon activity linked back to her.

Her.

Why her? Why had Johnny—or the demon in possession of Johnny's body—searched her out? She tensed again and began to shiver more violently, her teeth chattering, a small whimper escaping her lips as the reality washed over her—as she remembered her nightmares. Her hand fisted in Dean's shirtfront as she fought the childish urge to bury her face in his neck and hide from it all.

He felt the change roll over her like a wave; felt the resurgence of the trembling, heard the chattering of her teeth and the strangled whimper that slipped out as her knuckles whitened around a handful of his shirt. He heard himself again begin murmuring the nonsense words of comfort, his right hand smoothing a path up and down her arm. He pulled back enough to look at her face without breaking the contact that he could sense was the only thing tethering her to reality. Her wide dark eyes were frantic and conflicted as they met his concerned green ones. As he watched yet another flood of tears well up and spill over her lashes he realized again that her burdens had just increased tenfold. His gaze flashed to the rearview mirror to meet Sam's. His brother's furrowed brow and troubled gaze matched his own. Another unspoken communication _'Get us back to the motel now!'_ had Sam nodding and checking traffic before he increased the pressure on the accelerator pedal. In no time the Impala was slowing for the turn into the parking lot and Sam was easing her into the open parking spot in front of their room.

Sam glanced back in the rearview catching Dean's eye once again and read his own concerns in his brother's face. Was the "something" that had been watching them on their way out still there or had it gone? Taking Emily's current state into consideration, neither man wanted to risk subjecting her to the possible scrutiny of whatever demonic foot soldier had been staking out their rooms before breakfast. His eyes still locked with Dean's, Sam tilted his head toward the door before looking pointedly at his brother. The meaning was clear. You stay here-I'll check it out. He held his left hand up, mimed tapping and held up two fingers. It was one of many signals they employed. If the coast was clear when he got out, Sam would rap on the hood of the Impala twice so Dean would know it was safe to shuffle Emily to the room.

Dean nodded to Sam before dropping his gaze back to Emily. Her eyes were closed, long tear dampened lashes throwing shadows onto her cheeks. He could only imagine what she was going through. The supernatural had been such a huge part of who he was for so long…his musings were interrupted by two sharp raps on the hood. He looked up to see Sam gesturing impatiently for them to get into the room. The coast might have been clear right then, but he wasn't taking chances.

"Emily? We're back at the motel. We need to get inside, ok?" Her eyes popped open, the anxiety clear. "I'm right here. I won't leave you but we need to go now. We'll be safe inside and then we can talk some more, ok?" The gentle command came through in both his voice and his expression. A glimmer of comprehension shone in Emily's stricken eyes and she nodded.

Dean opened the Impala's protesting door and with his arm still around Emily slid toward the opening, letting go only long enough to step out and straighten up before reaching a hand back in for hers. Emily slipped her hand into his and allowed him to pull her gently out of the car. She hear the car door slam and the next thing she knew they were back in the motel room with the door closed and Sam was pouring a thick line of rock salt along the door's base.

Rock salt. Right. Because demon's couldn't cross it. That's normal.

The laughter began to bubble up again, feral and maniacal. She was in shock. She got it—had been trained to recognize the signs. What she hadn't been trained in was how to handle it when she was the one experiencing the signs. It was surreal really. She felt Dean shift slightly away and then his hand was in front of her face holding something small and silver.

A flask.

The top had been unscrewed for her (_How_ _did he manage to unscrew it with one hand?_ She wondered, realizing that his other was still wrapped securely around her arm.) and she could smell the rich, sharp scent of strong whiskey. She took it from him and raised it to her lips, tipping it back and relishing the path the fiery liquid burned down her throat, its warmth pooling in her stomach. She felt Sam's gaze, both curious and concerned, on her as Dean sat her down at the foot of one of the beds in their room before stepping back. She shivered at the loss of contact and felt a new emptiness inside.

Why? Why would a break in physical contact hit her so hard? Why did she trust them? She had known them less than twenty-four hours. Their first meeting had been the result of an elaborate fabrication on their part. They had come clean (on that) but she had no doubt that all that they had omitted could fill volumes. And yet…

She _did_ trust them—would trust them with her life.

Logically it made no sense. Her team would probably have her committed if they could see her now.

As the thoughts rolled around in her mind, she took another deep draw from the flask. She could hear Dean talking to her but couldn't concentrate on the words and for some reason the muted tuba "voices" from the old Charlie Brown cartoons popped into her head. She turned her confused eyes back to Dean's. "Mmmm. Wait. What?"

"Exactly." At her puzzled look he sighed deeply and turned pleading eyes on Sam, who picked up where Dean had apparently left off.

"Emily, you need to rest. In the past two days you've been smacked repeatedly with mind bending emotional blows that honestly would send a weaker person to her knees—and you know as well as we do that you didn't sleep last night. Lie down. Rest. We'll be right here." His brows were drawn together over hazel eyes that possessed a distinctly "puppy-esque" appearance.

Dean watched her expectantly and shook his head when her questioning eyes landed on his face. "We're not going anywhere. You'll be safe. Just rest, ok?"

She wanted to protest but between the exhaustion and the whiskey (another gulp—or three—had gone down during Sam's compelling little speech) she couldn't find the ability. She scowled at each brother in turn before defeated, she nodded.

Later. She'd be strong later. Right now she was just so…tired

Slumping backward from her seated position at the foot of the bed, she slid herself up until her head came into contact with the pillow dropping the now empty flask in the process and barely noticed when Dean unzipped her boots and gently slipped them from her feet.

As her brain floated in a haze of whiskey and exhaustion, she finally gave in to temptation and closed her eyes.

She was asleep in minutes.

* * *

_**A/N**~A huge and heartfelt **THANK YOU** to everyone who has read/reviewed/added so far! This story is so much fun to write-even when my muse is being a flighty little brat-and I hope that comes through when you're reading it. Poor Emily's really going through it right now but not to worry, she'll be back to her usual butt kickin' name takin' self soon. Keep enjoying and seriously guys, keep reviewing. I need me my fix! LOL. Happy reading! _


	13. Chapter 13

_Awesome_, Dean thought with chagrin as his gaze trailed along Emily's sleeping form, _just awesome_.

Considering her lack of rest, and the fact that she had drained his eight ounce flask in roughly four gulps, it was no surprise that she had dropped off so fast. The corner of his mouth quirked upward in a smirk when he noticed that she had rolled over onto her stomach in a perfect facsimile of Sam's "drunk sleep" position. His eyes shifted to those of his brother and the smile dropped away as he recognized the frustration simmering behind the soft hazel.

"What now?" Sam asked, hoping that Dean had some idea of which direction they needed to pursue.

_And isn't _that_ the million dollar question_.

Dean squelched his sarcasm and shrugged in reply. If only he knew. "I'll take her back to her room. Then we can review everything we have so far. When she wakes up we'll talk to her. See what she figured out that threw her over the edge." At Sam's nod, the elder Winchester made his way to the side of the bed where Emily was now snoring softly. She appeared so comfortable, it was a shame to move her but they did have research to do and Sam's pursed lips indicated that they needed to get to it _now_. She would be better off out of earshot anyway; God knew she was already having nightmares, they didn't need to make them worse.

He gently rolled her over before slipping one arm behind her back and the other under her legs. Shifting his weight forward, he lifted her effortlessly, cradling her against his chest; a look of surprise crossing his face when she snuggled into his embrace with a contented sigh, her breath soft against his neck. He pointedly ignored the speculative expression that flitted across Sam's face, choosing instead to take her immediately back through the adjoining doorway and, careful not to disturb her slumber, softly deposit her onto the bed she had slept in the previous night.

Arms now conspicuously empty, he gazed down into softened features, her head resting against the pillow, dark hair splayed out like a fan. Seeing her face peaceful for the first time since they met left him raw inside.

_Demonic bastards. Constantly ruining the lives of good people_.

He felt his fists clench in rage and lifting his eyes to the ceiling, reminded himself to relax, to take deep, measured breaths until the anger abated.

He ached to get in his car and just drive…get away. He had always done his best thinking behind the wheel of the Impala. Something about the purr of the engine, the throb of his music pumping and the consistency of the scenery flashing by was almost…meditative and though every fiber of his being was screaming for the open road, he simply turned and walked back to the room he was sharing with Sam, leaving Emily to her sleep. He had promised her that he wouldn't leave; told her he would be there when she awoke. That meant something to him-his word meant something.

The expression on Dean's face was dark when he sat down across from Sam at the tiny motel table. "So? What have we got so far?"

Sam glanced up from his laptop, meeting his brother's eyes. "Not much. We know that there were three "victims": Thomas Valentine, Matthew Benton and Patrick Cavanaugh. We also know that Father Silvano was in the process of a fourth exorcism on a Jonathan Cooley, when Emily and another agent from her team, um…SSA David Rossi, interrupted and literally had him deported on the spot."

"Super. And of the four "possessed" two were personally connected to Emily?" Dean rubbed hard at his eyes before swiping his hand down his face and meeting Sam's gaze head on.

"Yeah. Looks like she was old friends with both Matthew and John. Apparently they all went to school together when their parents were posted at the embassy in Rome." Sam's expression turned quizzical. "Huh. Everything that I'm finding shows that before Rome Matthew was a total straight arrow. Good student, involved in extracurricular and embassy activities, involved at church…dude, he even volunteered with outreach programs."

"OK. And this is important because?" Dean wasn't seeing the value in what appeared to be an excellent college application.

"Because, after Rome it all changed. His grades dropped, he stopped attending church, got involved in drinking and drugs…the guy did a complete 180…'he just wasn't the same Matthew anymore' according to everyone that knew him."

"So…what? We think that some demon started possessing him as far back as Rome? That had to be, what? Twenty years ago?" Dean rubbed at the tension building at the base of his neck before sliding his hand around to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Close to. I'm thinking that whatever happened in Rome rocked his faith, maybe disillusioned him. He wasn't necessarily possessed there, but it opened him up to future possession." Sam leaned back in his chair, his face intense. "Okay. Let's start from the beginning. So we have Rome. We have Emily, Matthew and John together in Rome as teenagers. We have some major life event, most likely involving Matthew, that was enough to shake him to the core. We have him then turning his back on a faith that meant everything to him. We have Matthew, Thomas and Patrick all taking a 'pilgrimage' to Spain during the same week. We have a Vatican demon hunter showing up in D.C. immediately after the Spanish pilgrimage and twenty years after Rome. He performs exorcisms on Matthew and John plus the two men that Matthew was in Spain with. So, what are we missing?" The meaning in his tone was clear and hung heavy in the air while he waited for Dean to verbalize it.

Dean looked up with a sigh and met his brother's eyes before once again roughly rubbing a hand down his face. "Emily." He responded. "We're missing Emily. She's our link; now we just have to figure out her significance in the puzzle."

* * *

Emily eased into wakefulness slowly several hours later with a crick in her neck from sleeping on her stomach and her mouth dry from the alcohol she could still taste on her breath. Rolling over she tried to focus on the face of the digital alarm clock but her eyes, gritty with tears and sleep, refused to cooperate. She blinked several times and looked around, realizing that she was once again in the tacky motel room she had slept in the previous night. The door adjoining her room to Sam and Dean's was cracked and she could hear both the muffled sounds of some old movie on the television and the muted voices of the brothers as they conversed.

She sat up carefully, anticipating the mild throbbing that worked its way down from the top of her skull into her neck and jaw. Groaning softly, she stretched and twisted in an attempt to loosen the cramped muscles and locked joints throughout her body. A satisfying series of pops and cracks sounded before she stood and made her way into the small bathroom, closing and locking the door behind her. Turning the shower fully to hot, she pointedly refused to meet her own eyes in the mirror before stripping off her clothes and stepping in beneath the soothing spray.

"No more tears." She whispered roughly under her breath. "No more fear. No more running away. It's time to buck up and face this thing—whatever it is—head on."

* * *

Attuned to every little sound coming from the next room, Dean was immediately aware when Emily shut herself in the bathroom. When he heard the shower turn on, he discreetly stood up on the premise of grabbing a beer from the cooler and pulled the adjoining door shut before returning to his bed and "Stand By Me." Twisting the top off, he took a long pull from the bottle as he once again settled back against the headboard, crossing his legs at the ankles; the very picture of nonchalance.

Though he had seen it countless times, it didn't take long for him to become engrossed in the adventures of Gordie, Chris, Teddy and Vern. Sam had always picked on him for the seemingly endless fount of useless movie trivia that flowed from him but in reality movies were his escape. The horror of their everyday existence could be so overwhelming that sometimes, just sometimes, the "happy endings" Hollywood churned out made things somewhat bearable. A deep sigh sounded across the room breaking his concentration and his glance moved from the television to his brother. Sam, face still inches from his laptop, was once more buried in research.

As though he could feel Dean's gaze on him, he looked up, his eyes meeting those of his brother, his expression weary. "Dude, I've been going over and over this. I don't think we're going to get any farther until we actually talk to Emily."

"Talk to Emily about what?"

Both men startled at the sound of her voice since neither had registered her approach. Dean rested his gaze on her and was pleased to see that some of the color had returned to her cheeks. She appeared alert, focused and rested. She also looked curious.

"Um…I…ah…well…" Sam stuttered surprised by her sudden appearance. He blushed a little, turning to Dean with his trademark puppy dog eyes for rescue.

_So that's how it's gonna be, huh little brother?_ Dean thought wryly. _Throw me under the bus but expect me to save you when you're floundering. _He shook his head in amusement before taking pity on the younger man. He muted the movie, leaned forward and waved Emily toward the foot of the bed across from where he sat before answering her query.

"We need to talk to you about Matthew. And about John." His perceptive eye caught the slight flinch that she tried to suppress at Cooley's name as well as the subtle straightening of her spine and squaring of her shoulders.

Emily knew that Johnny would come up; knew that she would have to tell the Winchesters her suspicion. She just didn't expect it to happen so quickly. She took several deep breaths in an attempt to find her center before she looked up into the green depths of Dean's eyes.

"What about them?"

Though the strain was evident in her voice, it was clear that she was working hard to keep her tone even and Dean's respect for her rose another notch. Emily Prentiss was one tough cookie. Her experiences of the past twenty four hours were formidable and would without a doubt have caused a weaker person to crack; however, it was clear that she had decided to rise to the challenge. She would not allow this demon, whatever its mission, to defeat her.

He softened both his gaze and his tone before asking the question that she had been dreading. "What happened in Rome, Emily?"

Much of the regained color once more drained out of her cheeks and she closed her eyes against the agonizing memory. Her heart beat painfully within her chest as the old wound was once again metaphorically ripped open, leaving a raw, gaping hole. Twice in three days. Telling Rossi had been hard enough. Suddenly exhausted again she sank to the bed, biting her bottom lip as she searched for the words.

Sam closed his laptop and moved to the foot of Dean's bed across from Emily. His brother scooted forward ready to move to her side, furrowing his brow at the play of raw emotion crossing her face.

Emily cleared her throat before beginning, her voice low, "I was fifteen and we had just moved to Rome for my mom's newest ambassadorship. I had a difficult time adjusting…it was tough always being the new kid, especially the new kid whose mom was effectively the boss. Matthew was one of the few who, from the beginning, was always nice to me. He reached out to make me feel welcome but I still struggled with making friends and feeling accepted." She looked away, her dark eyes clouded with the ghosts of the past.

Both Dean and Sam sat quietly waiting for her to continue; hesitant to interrupt what they could tell was a difficult monologue.

"When you're fifteen….well, you'll do almost anything for acceptance..." She trailed off, eyes downcast, as a blush rose on her cheeks.

Comprehension dawned in Dean's eyes and he swallowed convulsively as she stoically moved on.

"It wasn't Matthew's…but he was the only person that I could go to. The only one I trusted. It wasn't like I could walk up to my parents and tell them I was pregnant. They would have been appalled. Matthew suggested that I go to our priest-even offered to go with me. The priest stated in no uncertain terms that if I were to have an abortion I would no longer be welcome in his congregation but Matthew found me a doctor anyway. He went with me, yet again. Made sure I was okay. And…" her voice broke but her eyes remained dry "…the following Sunday, when we got back to Rome, Matthew and I went to church. He took me by the hand and we walked all the way up the center aisle to the first pew. The priest even stopped in the middle of his sermon. He and Matthew just stared at each other. It was like a battle of wills. Then he picked up again, but Matthew was never the same after that. He slipped away from the church, from God. He turned to drugs and alcohol. He apparently became easy prey for demons and was open for possession. His faith was broken and I was the reason."

As she finished, a lone tear trailed down her cheek and it took everything Dean had not to brush it away for her before she swiped it away herself. She sniffed and blinked back the rest of the moisture, once more raising her chin and meeting each of the brothers' eyes in turn.

"And Johnny? After looking at all of the facts and taking everything into consideration, I'm sure that he's possessed as well. Father Silvano said that Matthew was a conduit. That people who had been around him were susceptible. Johnny had seen Matthew, had spent time with him. Johnny called me and said that he needed to see me. When I met him, he said that Matthew told him that someone was out to get him. That 'they were going to kill' him 'like they did Tommy V.' He told me that Matthew's father called him to tell him about Matthew's death but when Rossi and I went to see them, his father said he hadn't spoken to Johnny in over twenty years. How could he have known? How could he have known that Matthew was dead if _no_ _one_ _told_ _him_?"

Her dark, shadowed eyes pleaded for answers as she continued desperately. "And it's all connected to me. I'm the reason Matthew was open to possession. It was my mistake. My screw up. Then, I _stopped_ the exorcism that could have saved Johnny. I was so stubborn and so rigid and so _sure _that Father Silvano was a homicidal unsub."

She laughed, the sound fraught with tension, and Dean made the decision to move to her side. Emily barely noticed as she continued.

"I mean, I really thought that he had poison in his bottle of holy water. _Poison_! I believed that he was carrying out a vendetta against Matthew, Thomas Valentine and Patrick Cavanaugh because he believed that they had killed his friend in Spain. I was so _stupid_."

Dean reached out and gently cupped her face in his hand, forcing her to meet his eyes. He spoke slowly and deliberately, willing her to accept the truth in his words. "You were not stupid, you were uninformed. There is a difference. It's easy to dismiss the supernatural when you've never been exposed to it; easier to go for the concrete, the logical. Don't beat yourself up for something you couldn't have known." He dropped his hand to hers squeezing it lightly. "Besides, now you have us to help you get to the bottom of it. And we will." he smirked at her in that way that had become so endearing, "In case you hadn't noticed, this ain't exactly our first rodeo."

* * *

_A/N~Ugh. What can I say besides I am so **so **sorry that it took so long? Thank you all for being patient with me...the real world intervened and I've been crazy busy with work. :( Again...so sorry! Anyway, a huge welcome to all those that have found me and this "my baby" through my newfound drabble obsession. Glad to have y'all on board :) Remember, reviews are love and they feed my (very fickle) muse! XOXO _


	14. Chapter 14

SSA Derek Morgan leaned back in his seat with a groan, his arms reaching up over his head and allowed the stretch to loosen the tense, strained muscles through his back and shoulders. Huffing out an irritated breath, he turned to the darkened window before running a long fingered hand hard down his face. Though the team had been ready to head out fairly early that morning, a technical issue had cropped up with the Gulfstream as they waited on the tarmac for liftoff. After several hours and many apologies from the flight crew they were finally in the air en route to San Francisco and their next case; unfortunately, the delay had cost them time and in their line of work time was of the essence.

Lulled by the humming of the engines, the rest of his team were either dozing or familiarizing themselves with the particulars of the case. Though he generally found the sound soothing tonight it was grating on his final nerve. He grimaced, draining the cold remnants of his third cup of coffee, and reminded himself that caffeine was caffeine no matter how putrid it seemed at the moment. He was exhausted, aggravated, and-though loath to admit it-worried. Slipping the cell phone from the case on his hip without thinking, he glanced—for no less than the hundredth time in the last two hours-at the empty display screen. It was powered down because of the flight but he already knew what he would find when he turned it back on.

Nothing. Nada. Zilch. There would be absolutely no word from Emily.

"Damnit woman." he muttered under his breath. Morgan was a man of many contradictions. He had always thrived under pressure; however, he was also always at his best when he had some semblance of control (tenuous and illusionary though it may be) over whatever situation he found himself in. He lived by his gut instinct but also appreciated being prepared with facts and details. In this case, his gut was telling him that _something_ was off. Therefore, it logically followed that the fact he had not had contact with his partner since the night of the interrupted exorcism did not sit well with him. At all.

A rustle from the seat across the aisle drew his gaze upward and he discovered JJ studying him, concern reflected in her knowing blue eyes.

"You ok?" She questioned gently.

He harrumphed slightly before answering, "Yeah."

When he turned away from her to face forward and rested his head back against the seat without offering anything further, JJ knew not to press. Morgan would come around. He and Emily had a special working relationship. Though the entire team worked together interchangeably it was understood that when it came time to partner up for interviews or recon they would be going together. JJ recognized that he was concerned about Emily's lack of communication-they all were-but she also had to trust her friend. She had promised to call if she needed them, though JJ doubted that reminding Morgan of that fact would ease his mind any. Sighing deeply, she settled back in her own seat and closed her eyes. Still thinking about Emily, her last conscious thought before drifting into a troubled sleep was, _Girl, I hope you know what you're doing. _

_

* * *

_

Face still tracked with tears-and hand still warm from Dean's grip-Emily looked back and forth between the two Winchesters, her confusion and self-loathing clear in her eyes. "I don't understand. Why would you _want_ to help me? Don't you get it? It's my fault! It's my fault he's dead and I don't even know how or why." Her voice, husky from the crying, broke a little on the last word as her chin dropped to her chest in defeat.

At a loss, Dean cringed internally, her words and expression both hitting him like a sucker punch. A mirthless chuckle worked its way up from his churning gut and he cleared his throat to keep it from escaping. Oh, he could relate…God, could he relate. He _had_ broken the first seal and started the planet down the yellow brick road to the apocalypse, after all. Was this how he looked to Sam? Guilty and broken and lost? He glanced at his brother over Emily's bowed head and read the understanding in the younger man's eyes.

"Trust me on this one…we both understand what you're feeling right now. More than you could possibly imagine. And we want to help you because that's what we do. We help people. We kind of consider it our family business. To be honest, a lot of times we help people and they don't even know that they've _been_ helped. You just happen to be a little more…perceptive, than most." Sam explained with a tentative smile.

Emily glanced up incredulously, her eyes red and puffy from the most recent bout of tears. "Your family business? Seriously?"

Dean pursed his lips thoughtfully before answering. "Yeah, less of a business more of a…calling? Sammy wasn't kidding when he said this was our destiny."

"And here I had convinced myself you really were just being melodramatic. A girl can dream, right?" Emily said, wiping her eyes as she shook her head with a self deprecating chuckle. "So I guess the biggest question is, why me? Why am I right smack in the middle of all of this? You said Father Silvano is well respected, right? Would the Vatican have sent him in if this wasn't something monumental?"

The brothers' long look of silent communication was not lost on the profiler and she huffed out an exasperated, "Huh." Two sets of green hued eyes turned to her. "So not only monumental but also of unprecedented proportions. Spectacular." She chuckled again at the identical surprised looks. "Yeah, profiler? And to be honest, you guys really aren't all that subtle. Besides, even if you hadn't been doing the Winchester mind meld thing, the lack of a quick and witty retort was all the answer I needed for that one." She sighed heavily feeling a new, utterly terrifying weight settle upon her shoulders and resisted the urge to flop backwards and bury herself in the covers until the threat had passed. She wouldn't though because, damn it, Elizabeth Prentiss's daughter was made of sterner stuff than that. In a move that Dean had already come to find endearing, she once again straightened her spine and lifted her chin. Breathing deeply her eyes flickered back and forth between Sam and Dean as she asked, "Alright, so what do we do?"

"Usually?" She nodded. "The first thing we do is research. It's probably not all that different from your approach, actually." Sam replied, slipping comfortably into the exposition. "We'll start gathering information on all of the people involved. Look into their backgrounds. Figure out how they relate. Then we start looking at places they may have been. Other people that might connect them. Learn as much as we can so that when we finally make contact we're as prepared as possible."

Emily looked at him, eyes now dry and glittering speculatively, "And exactly how do you make contact with them? Something tells me that you aren't always 'reporters' with the local paper."

Dean had the good sense to look contrite when she focused sharp brown eyes on him. "No, not always. Sometimes we're teddy bear doctors." He cracked a small smirk that quickly wilted under her scrutinizing gaze, before squirming slightly. "Look Em, our line of 'work' isn't exactly recognized by mainstream society and sometimes we have to bend the rules a little to get the job done."

She groaned at the implication. "Why do I get the feeling that I really, really don't want to hear this?"

"Because you probably don't," Sam stated bluntly, "but the fact is, Dean and I decided that we were going all in on this one. If we're going to be working together to figure this out, we have to be completely honest with you. It may come back to bite us in the ass but you laid all of your cards out for us to see and it's only right that we do the same."

"Ok dude, enough with the poker metaphor." Dean smirked again at Sam's long-suffering eye roll before sobering to focus his attention back on Emily. "Like 'The Gambler' over there said, we _are_ going to lay it all out but there're a few things we need to cover before we do. First of all: it's vitally important that you keep mention of us to a minimum when you check in with your team. Not mentioning us at all would be even better." At her quizzical look he expounded, "Suffice it to say we've had run-ins with the FBI before and they haven't always ended pleasantly."

"How unpleasantly?" Emily questioned with a sinking sensation in her gut.

"Bear in mind that it wasn't our fault. Wrong place…wrong time…damned shape shifter." Dean qualified, scowling at the memory.

"How unpleasantly?" Emily repeated more insistently.

"Well…um…we…uh…_wewerewantedforawhile_." Sam stuttered quickly, tripping over the final words.

"Wait. You were wanted? By the FBI? For a while?" The incredulous look was back and was now accompanied by the incredulous tone. "Last time I checked the FBI doesn't just give up on wanted fugitives. Why aren't you wanted anymore Sam?" Both brothers looked distinctly uncomfortable as her eyes darted back and forth between the two. "Dean?"

Dean cleared his throat and sniffed, pinching the bridge of his nose before answering, his voice pained. "Do you remember that small town police station that blew up in Colorado about a year ago? Official report said it was a gas leak?" At her slight nod, he continued, "several bureau agents, most of the local cops, a secretary and two fugitives died in the blast?" Looking at her pointedly on the 'two fugitives' he gestured first to himself and then to Sam.

Ignoring the small gasp of understanding he continued unfazed, "Agent Victor Henricksen was a thorn in our sides for two years. Dogged us like nobody's business. Gotta give it to him…dude was good too. And thanks to an anonymous tip from an old 'friend', " he sneered on the word, "he caught up with us in Monument. Took us in." He chuckled humorlessly, "Man, he was convinced we were Satan worshiping freaks who had a bunch of buddies on the outside ready to break us out. What we actually had was a bunch of demons ready to swarm down to _take_ us out." Dean sighed deeply. "Really long story short? He got possessed, we exorcised him via a blessed toilet, and he saw the error of his ways. After we exorcised the demon swarm, Henricksen…just let us go. Said he would tweak some reports and that the official story would be that we had died in a helicopter crash. The demons had already torched the chopper and killed a couple of agents. It would fit the story." He cleared his throat again, his own self loathing brutally apparent in the forced humor, "Unfortunately for Henricksen, his induction into the demon hunter club was a baptism by fire, literally. After he sent us on our merry way, Lilith, the self proclaimed demon leader moseyed her way into the station and toasted everyone. Blew the place sky high. The only upside was that the FBI assumed that we were still inside. It's kind of hard to be wanted as a fugitive when you've been proclaimed dead." He looked up and met Emily's eyes again. "We don't need to land back on the radar Em, too much is at stake. We aren't the bad guys. You know it. You've seen what's out there. Just be subtle when you talk to the team, please? That's all we're asking."

His concern was palpable and Emily swallowed hard at the pleading in his tone, afraid to tell him that she might have already alerted at least one member of the team to their identities. Garcia may not have made the connection yet…but how long would it take her to put it together? Two Dean and Sams, be they of one Bonham and one Page or two Winchesters would certainly not escape her friend's genius radar for long.

* * *

_**A/N**~*cringes* I know. I know. I am a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad fanfiction author for making you all wait almost a month for this chapter. *hangs head* I have no excuses other than the fact that RL and my new job have been keeping me crazy busy. It's been easy enough to write drabbles (they're *really* short!) and to read and review (I read *really* fast) but finding chunks of time large enough to sit down and continue digging into the meat of this one? A lot harder to come by. Forgive me please? :) Enjoy (: _


End file.
